i am not in love with crisis
i just argue to maintain
a sense of leaning, loving,
learning
moving on never felt the same.

what if every leaving wasn’t
of the mind
this ending doesn’t doubt
the autumn-summer line
I am just a mirror, rediscovered and contained.

brittle, bagged, and mixed up bones
the rooms of the house
only make the hide of homes.
gutted kitchens don’t need trash stains,
dishes, fridge reminders to explain.

palm in concrete, initialized
unknowing tenants stumble past
the drying ground
this house is not a holy respite
it’s for learning soft goodbyes.

every night is on my mind
keep on moving every year until
we just might grow
from all the places that we’ll be
To all that places that we’ve known.