We are fighting entropy
in our sleep.
We fold the blankets halfway over,
fill our brains with blue light,
fall asleep on our sides.
I recognize your desperate face
in the moon's craters.
I find your fingerprints
in paper bags, my bedroom doorknob, oranges:
sweet smelling with the nectar of cities
and dirty rainwater, pouring down dirty pavement
after the first spring storm.
I wouldn't say I'm looking for you,
just noticing the way traces of you
are sprinkled over my life.
I might be falling apart,
I might miss something I've never had,
I might accidentally love everyone who smiles at me,
but I refuse to believe I'm the opposite of entropy.