Your heart fell like a bird inside you

and I tripped on it

Your eyes are green your hands purple your skin blanched

I dance on your ridiculously gorgeous hip of seagrass

Clean strides across the room, music in your hair

In what delicious way have you been misapprehended?

I hear you one last time several times a day

In your soothing phrases, thereʼs something of a fervent layer of doubt

What do you make of this—a referendum on hope?

Three hundred forty-two inside a rehabilitated church,

a broken piano and a man deciding the notes of grief

Who knows what men are when they are nothing?

We are nothing but the absences of things we once were

Holes I stumble into even on rainless days—this journey around

you will never be easy