I did stop dreaming about you
but you never quit crossing my mind
in flashes that make my breath catch

I can remember that there was a baby 
who wouldn’t let me leave without 
kissing her on the lips,

Five years on, what I miss most about us


is my own feeling that something was meant to be
my own conviction that something couldn’t be broken

Caring feels like I’m the driver and you’re in the passenger seat
and there’s a Bad Thing coming so I put my arm out across you

Years ago, when I couldn’t sleep, I would imagine myself
curled against a broad chest, being rocked in the arms 
of a giant. My body was tiny in his arms, safe and light,

In a parallel time, 

there’s a house where we spend our days 

I was asked recently to think
about when I feel most me

I found another
an alien just like me
hiding in plain sight

He’s clearly a weekend dad
one who has brought his boys to the pool
mostly to kill time

The plant next to the path
Grows tall and green and luscious 
Standing there in all its liveness

When I turn out the light
in the space between the switch
and my head resting on the pillow

At 6:57 this morning, the words ran out. They stopped. 

Protested. Said they had done more than their share of work.

to life than the taste of coffee
on his lips as they pull me from sleep

If I ever needed proof
that there is more to life than this body
that talking is more than from our mouths,
more, even, than found in our touch

You think I’m far,
that we don’t speak much,
that I’m “the prodigal daughter,”
that I didn’t want or take as much from you as did your sons.

But I’ve never told you

I went through his social media
archives the other night
I don’t know why I didn’t
think to do that before

We went to the woods
and had a bonfire of words
burned it all to the ground
everything we’d built

She is still
here.
Everywhere.

I’m not here for you
to teach me like the others

Though I am learning
like lightning about

I watch you walk away
with short strides, posters
and supplies thrust under your arm