He is walking toward the Pacific Ocean,
the man-I-had-once appreciates salt water so I refill our
pillowcase with it when he falls asleep every night.
He could drink it straight,
like whiskey or milk, and it’d fill him like calcium.

When he decided he needed more
I became one hundred percent sodium – sometimes salt
flakes from my skin like translucent freckles.

I do not go out anymore:
people talk as if he still exists although I
have him no longer. Mother Nature touched her hand to
my face and said she does not mind if I only swim
in public pools now, chlorine and all.

God told me he understands
if I hate the man-I-had-once, for breaking my heart
because he jumps into oceans and rivers
for enjoyment and I jump off of bridges because I must.