elastic marks that stretch across your skin
like railroad tracks
& my fingers ache to run across them
to find out where your destination is.
crawl under the sheets & make-believe tents
holding up a torch, you whisper
"do you sometimes forget she isn't here?"
& i'm secretly glad that you feel that way too
& i'm tired of mourning & the absence of person
has just become:
& i can't drive anymore
the lights will flash me in the eyes & on rainy roads
i fear that, like her,
i will slip & fall apart.
so we hole ourselves in houses
because it's the only way we know how not to get hurt.
this is the end of my (f)all.
a lifetime couldn't burn this away
so could you hold a candle to my flame?
& when i watch children on the street play, i think:
this is where she belongs (not six feet under, embalmed)
planes & freeways & subways
keep our distance grounded
& if i could walk to you forever
i'd go wherever the ground led.
e x p l o d e
before you feel anything at all
b e l i e v e
because there's something to be said for (blind) faith
r u n
before they come to get you
& when you lie down to sleep
& i rock you singing lullabies
we will momentarily forget that lullabies are sung for children
& there are no children here anymore.