you’re the moth-eaten moths of memory
the torn tapestry of my life
its seams of moonlight
scars become skin
don’t know how
to write about you anymore
I’ll let silence sing
sky packed too tight
bruised blue
needs to split itself open
thunder the wedge
hammered into the heart
of the stone
of the sky
in perpetual twilight
slow as dream time
rings made from rainfall
I think of the shadows we could have created
floorboards laid together
the seams of dark between us
thick with spilled stars
light soaked into
a longed-for letter
never sent
never written
is love
the performers
performing for themselves
a slow show
once the wings
of the main show
packed away
instruments played gentle
as injuries
replaced my heartbeat
with the syllables of your name
sparrows dream songs
within the walls
I write to you
to keep you near me
a gate
spills the garden
into the street
I don’t think about the thorns
I think about the blackberries
of your love
how they reveal the labyrinths
of my fingerprints
that touches the dark
trying to find your face
summer did not live
in that summerhouse
winter and spring
braided themselves there