the sky was on fire this
morning. the whole world
stood still, ablaze.
i was asleep, though. asleep
and dreaming of missing you.
like i usually am.

in the interim time periods
amidst two
weeks
too
late resolutions i
always say it's always too late i
think i'm going or gone insane;
asleep and over hills
and hills and
hills that don't exist, how
can the world still spin with
its one glimmering turning point so
far away?

i let the birds open up
the window, let
choke my lungs on
clean air, choke me from
tender clouds, all cutapart endings,
rusty-hinged doorways.
from dreams i never wanted anyway.
dreams of your wet eyes.

i'm not drunk though. just a mess.

*and you know how i love you,
too. in quiet frequencies and
teapots and cold mornings, in
birdsong and my slow
anxieties.
but you already know that.