of you, standing beside that creek,
with your rain boots and your bag and your hands,
holding onto me.
Every October I read
your poems. I run your words
through my head on repeat.
I think of that time
I put my hand in yours
and you couldn't speak.
How you stood there and
tried to breathe
and looked over at me
like I was the sky and you
were just opening your eyes.
There are certain moments
from which I will never recover.
Swaying dizzy in your arms, laughing.
Sitting on that bench in November, freezing.
Riding the bus next to you, our knees tucked up,
our thoughts tangled together under the seat.
Staying up at night, trying to collect
the pieces of you in a poem.
I have never stopped dreaming of you, never want to.
I wake in the dark,
feel the shiver of your smile on my spine,