I called you from costa rica, on tuesday
and you flew down the next night.
I had land, by the sea
and a great many trees
where I'd built a shed for you and me.

and with steady hands we sawed logs cut
our teeth on familiar skin
braced four footed, mild against the wind.
slept in sweat in a dark log room
and all the lilies tossed within.

and as I count your labored breaths, I
know now I should have never left.
but there was spice in the air and you spoke a dead tongue
and you loved me and loved me and loved me and I run.


and I said,
I want you to know you are my eyes
and anything I see without you
isn't seen at all.

and you said,
maybe we will starve here, in arms
hold nothing. spent. keep on giving.

and I said,
and maybe we will die here, in arms


when you
fail to stay alive
you must

keep on living.