In the pit of my heart,
I yearn to learn
your not dead.

Even if I'm dead to you.

People are always dead to you
if they don't exist in your life anymore.


I was a girl
with paradigm abreast,
shared world hater, lover,
frolicking in the clearing of disenchantment,
pleased beneath your rounded shoulders,
our first breath together
was dark green water,
and I was parched,

and I feel weak,
when I think about
the shadows of our feet,
frozen to the pavement,
that cold California February,
your fingers opening my pilot jacket unabashedly —
my soft belly exposed and stiffened —
a waste to hold on before you leave.