we moved too fast, and tripped into the guestroom.

*

still breathing (but barely it's true)

the sidewalks are watching me think about you,
sparkled with broken glass.
i'm back with scars to show.
back with the streets i know
never take me anywhere but here.

the stain in the carpet, this drink in my hand,
the strangers whose faces i know.
we meet here for our dress-rehearsal to say
"i wanted it this way"
wait for the year to drown.
spring forward, fall back down.
i'm trying not to wonder where you are.
all this time lingers, undefined.
someone choose who's left and who's leaving.
memory will rust and erode into lists of all that you gave me:
a blanket, some matches, this pain in my chest,
the best parts of Lonely, duct-tape and soldered wires,
new words for old desires,
and every birthday card I threw away.

*

the west winds often last too long
the wind may calm down
nothing ever feels the same
sheltered under the Kamani tree
waiting for the passing rain
clouds keep moving to uncover the scene
stars above are chasing the day away
to find the stories that we sometimes need
listen close enough
all else fades
fades away

it was just another night
with the sun set
and the moon rise not so far behind
to give us just enough light
to lay down underneath the stars
listen to all the translations
of the stories across the sky
we drew our own constellations

*

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