i don’t know why you
told me not to die;when the
quiet settled, i thought i heard
your agony. i asked the
(moon to
hold you/instead of rising
like you do. instead of dying
like you do.

i shattered;
docile, sweeping, the sun rose
in misty greys, greens, and you
looked like unravelled yarn/ i want
to wrap you together, press you close,
knit your branches in the cold.