there. not here. everywhere.

wherever you aren’t is nowhere i am.

i won’t admit to weakness, but my boughs

have turned blue, and i won’t wake until

i am sure i have nothing left

to fear. last night, i dreamt of crawling down

the fire escape and lying in the street, folding

my body into a funeral home

for the crows.

cruel as it may be to stop warm-blooded

beings in one place, i promise

these arms could make you eternal.

imagine opening them and welcoming whatever

the wind brings. be it life or lack of. love or–

not knowing these conditions, would

anyone find a door and push through it,

certain it must be better there

than where we are now? tomorrow,

my head will be full of stones, but i will

leave them in your palms, your graveyards,

use them to pave trails of mourning

we will undoubtedly return to.

numb like this in winter: our mouths

move faster than our hearts. the draft over

the lake has frozen into a glacier, and won’t thaw

until someone changes

the flowers or throws out the whole

damn vase. god, my mind is glass,

and i’ve let it shatter so many

times. thinking, what happens to animals

who wake before hibernation ends.

does nature kill or let die?

i like to imagine they open themselves

and sink into the silence of survival

like a dried up river says goodbye to

the last drops of itself. they sing

themselves into interlude and

sleep will be all that was lost.