i just find it so **** crazy
     (or maybe i'm just crazy)—
that the preying mantis on my porch
has a soul
and that earwigs experience fear
     and that the honeybee in my backyard
knows all her peers
and that one of them, perhaps
hopes to grow old—
     or, at least, to make it a year—
and now finds with her eight eyes
her daughter a smear
on the picnic blanket on an
     arbitrary Wednesday
she's watching with eight eyes—
    
perfectly clear

maybe i'm crazy but isn't it also crazy
     how we look just like ants from afar?

i guess that i just can't believe
that you and me—
that i thought that this could ever be
we said that we loved but our love
never swayed gently with the trees, our love
never stayed in the event of a breeze, our love
became a season that flutters in degrees

there is a bottle out there somewhere on the sea
and inside is a letter written
to you from me
of all the things that i wished that we could be
and all the things i chose not to believe —
of all the words i swore i'd never
speak

all the stars above remind me
of the only things that we both see
and i know you're either half-alive or half-asleep
wishing wishing wishing wishing
wishing wishing
wishing

I’m weak without you and I’m weak
in your presence
Admiring your essence
Like you were sculpted by God to stand in the Garden of Hesperides

you ever just not know what to say? write? feel?
but then your skin feels him—almost, truly, feebly
and breathing
it was one kiss but i still...
he still loves me—
he doesn't love me
i still... i still
do you remember my red sweater?
the one i wore that day before leaving you?
i'd hold it to my face—as if to conjure the smell of you
and your handwriting's beautiful,
i don't care that it's bad, or that you
said it was
i still... i still vacuum the excess
but it never escapes
little jewels
little dust molecules
and little morsels of almost-nothing
that cling to my hair like snow
i still... i still...

Like Wasatch collapsed
for the two of us to be here
Harvey parted his torrent
and tempest, and fear—
That your lips would find mine.

there are tears on the piano scores
i play for you
tears on the letter that you wrote
that flew
from 1500 miles of blue
across Pacific, the Gulf—
it’s true
all the seas between
us made of tears
my music made of all my fears
that you would never get through
that blue
‘till all of my cried-out notes
rung true
and all my tears forged seas
for you