In my dream that I love and hate to recall-
The sky is made of amethyst,
and you’re dancing in a metal kitchen,
laughing, telling me
that God is a handsome blonde guy.

Your last miracle
was making spring come sooner.
And I love you for that.

Memory of the first time I saw your smile,
Now ocasionally sneaks out of my eyes
and rolls down my cheek

I used to trip over our memories,
breaking a bone or three,
but now I just crack open windows,
let the air in,
Finally accepting to live with divorce and sunset.

Your voice notes expired
long before I was ready.
The realization settles first
beneath my lungs,
then crawls up my throat
before sinking into my coffee.

I miss you,
but I won’t ask you to come back anymore.
I finally understand.
Goodbye, my friend.
Be free.