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:

space.

& 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.