107.0 Miles

A hole covered in moss. I visit you there, from time to time to time to ti-. I’m sorry. I’ve lost my little sliver of the future again. How do you stay so unlatched from this? This being you. This being the space between the song & the ear. Don’t answer me. I hear water. A flood is just another way to move. Your delicate cycle of arms. Lift, says the flower. I can’t, says the way things don’t look how you thought they did. A spine is just another way to shackle. Go big or go home. Sometimes, one time, when the walls are closing in, it’s nice to wonder if they are trying to bend you into a better shape.

Reckless / Unharmed

I have a tendency
to make a room out of
every thing. I am

sleepy & feel most like
myself, which is to say:
unsure if those are

dependent on one
another. Every day is
given one chance to be

yesterday. Shouldn’t
we be so lucky?
Just now, now then I

wrote your name down
by drawing a picture
of a bird. But this

wasn’t you. You were
the snow that had
settled in its belly

& only I would know
that & only I would
forget it. Do you

remember pulling my
hand through your
hair, guiding, guiding,

guiding me? A person
only has to say try
once, & there, they’ve

done it.

The Roads Colored Black

for Jeremy Radin

You died in my dream this morning. Or maybe, you just told me you were going to die. Or maybe there was only a vague air of death, thin as an eyelid. But why worry? We’re too busy. Killing ‘em with kindness. People are falling everyday, like birds that can smile anytime they have a reason to. So, what’s the salt of the earth? It’s salt. It’s a warning. It’s going to sleep trembling & saying yes, this is the best possible outcome & there’s nothing better than the best. I don’t have to tell you there are wolves here. These paw prints behind us never let us forget.