the words fell,
                           like wind, from you
          -r limbs, empty
-handed. loss
                           attacks each body
          differently.
mine collapsed
                           into a spinning reel
          of memory.
can’t untangle
                          my rusted limbs from the hinges,
          even now.
even in the
                          dark, you never opened
          your eyes.
i was grateful,
                           then, before i realized
          what it meant.
how long do i have
                           to keep lifting this
          body from the dirt
of every morning?
                           you grew thyme, planted
          in sidewalk cracks.
the smell crept in
                          the window every night.
          i haven’t slept with
so much as the
                          curtains open, not since you
          left your watch
on the nightstand.
                          the one that never fit around
          my wrist. i can’t
help but think
                          you did that on purpose.
           within reach,
without purpose.
                          the incessant ticking
            echoes inside
my head.
                          oh, trees, oh,
          what are you
falling for?
                          haven’t you given
          your all ages ago?
once, i wanted
                         to be a river, etching my path
          wherever i went,
like i deserved it,
                         like i’d forgotten how
          to follow someone
else’s current.
                          it was the closest i’ve
          come to loving
myself.
                         once, i found
          a ragged moon
floating on a
                          nameless lake:
          a quartz in an
outstretched palm.
                         if i open my
          hands, if i open my
mouth for you,
                         just promise
          to leave my teeth
behind when
                        you’re finished
with me.