Your hand resting above my heart
flipped it would fall
and fill your palm

I like to think the heart weighs
roughly the same
as the hand that holds it

the same as a clump of earth
held together by the roots
of a pulled up sunflower


I’ve heard it said
you lose 21 grams
after your last breath
that’s too precise
I imagine that weight
the same as a wren’s
flitting between the
shreds of sunlight
in the dark hedgerow
of your heart


I want the weight of sunlight
sheets light as breaths
dusting my skin
making me still as snow
reflecting the touch
brightening shadows


I want to be made darker
by the weight of your brightness
snow on a branch

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