She & I walked and walked,
our words as easy and steady as our footfalls--
interlaced, painting the fields.
I stole a sprig from the forsythia
and in the weeks between us I have
watched it die slowly (suddenly)
on my desk.

We were neither of us real,
just kids licking our last taste of freedom.
My body wordlessly evaporated before you.

When this is over meet me where the lilacs grow,
hold me tight so I can let you go.

​

-

Our feet are wrenched from the earth - scattering -
I tumble in the wind beside a golden leaf and ask them,
How do you not get motion sickness?

I could ask the same of you, they reply, and dissolve into dust.
I hope I fly high enough to see the cities below me
and of course as I think that, my toes catch flame.

It’s thrilling, at first, until I look down and recognize nothing.
I am afraid, my heart says, and the moon smiles.
I am alone, I am nowhere.

The moon becomes unbearably beautiful against the naked trees
but I’ve forgotten how to cry.
Worlds below, flower buds stretch their arms toward me
and laugh
(and laugh).

​

-

​

Each evening I light candles and knit
years of green yarn into a scarf (rectangles
are the only shapes I know anymore)

Each night the cat claws the stitches
apart, wildflower petals dripping
from his teeth

Each morning I wind the yarn into
a neat ball, ready to begin the scarf
again with the setting sun

Every day until the cat is
gone, I guess