my head misses you
like it’s seasick at home
and homesick for the sea
by the side of a road;

it keeps drawing up the spaces
that used to be filled by your presence
and coming up empty;
there’s an indent in my bed
the shape of your body.

the day the moon fell over the sun
it smelt like the ocean
where i was
and all i could think about
while the partial eclipse burned my retinas
and forced my lungs inside out:
how lucky i was —
to be alive;
how much is missing
when i close my eyes
and open them to find
blurry blotches of light
but not you;
how i would have gone blind
if it meant i could stop looking for signs
between forgone hellos
and the common goodnight.