ice collects around the window

I collect myself, collect my things

pick at the threads hanging from my clothing

on the way back through these heavy-eyed roads

batting my lashes at its sopitive sounds

patiently thrumming strings

waiting for patience to part with me

again

I possess myself

hang from the height of this parting breeze

no doubt that if it's picked me up, it will set me down

and someone from the passenger seat

exchanges a pithy parting glance

again

I possess myself

maybe somewhere unknown

I collect myself, collect strewn things

possess myself to collect dust

and feel it like small bugs stalking up my spine

as the bustle and buckle of the beltway

buzzes and rattles where my back touches the seat

breath fights me for its own space

again

I possess myself, remind myself

it rains somewhere, it's a different time somewhere –
someone, somewhere
pops the top off of their wine,
resigned to the sticky spill of its cherry scent,
drinks it alone and sinks into their dulled senses
possesses themselves to make it their last bottle,
patient for their parting sigh

someone, somewhere else,
pops the top off of their wine
giddy at the squeak and snap,
heart fluttering at the cherry scent
as it bubbles over the lip of the bottle
they present it to their lover
in two carefully poured glasses
patient in their honeymoon sigh

someone, I'm sure
stakes the highway line
somewhere,
maybe not too far from this home of mine
collects their dust in a similar fashion
prone, picked up on a gust of passion
possesses the last small comfort yet to be robbed
in imagining the same system of cogs
that turn under the same cover of sky
and pulls from it a patient sigh

my lover
fashioned from old dirt
and bones buried
broken and brittle in the earth
painted so sparingly in gold
she is chipping all of such a thin coat
my lover
would start to wither, watered wine
I take her pains, tithing my time
her scent as sycamore and pine
to cut the wormwood from her twine
I love her
I will be with her, if it's fine

I ask the summer breeze

that seeps around

my cold, uncaring cracks

to sit with me

stay in its place

to keep directing the dance

of busy, buzzing bees

to kiss me every year,

staying rightfully in its season

but to write me of warmth over the holiday

I ask it that its honey-drenched, honeysuckle-sweetened air

would be my valentine

the ground is all
but under my feet
and
i lose grip
on whatever tethers me

my breath
as a bitten, threadbare rope

still

prolonged to cling to connate hope

somewhere between old and new moon

in dark,
i linger
on my last swoon
sit somewhere sidereal
seething in its last touch feel

unsure of how to temper it
and how my want to decrements

still

i want to land on solid ground

and hope to hear a voice call out
as stars tangle above earth's crown