you've felt
the brambles and sweat,
the curl of berry-stained lips.
you've seen
the cornflower sky stolen
by a red-orange river,
the evening still thick
with lightning bugs and laughter.
you've held
up your hair against the heat
and turned on a fan,
while i stand here, in the grey,
skin pale and prickled.
you know
what i don't: that soon,
the sun will slide across the table
and glint off the silverware
at just the right moment,
turning me blind.
Your hair danced in the wind
yesterday, and the trees
turned your eyes green.
You took
a photo of me, my skin
flushed from the fire, my
eyes closed on accident
and I took one
her magenta marker
the silent clock
my desk, now darker
with dust like chalk.
his name in my phone
my swimming mind
his teeth were like moonstone,
mouth open that night.
today's air tastes like berries
and overused metaphors. the shadows run
across golden ground, and i look
at our old stone wall like they would in farmers' days.
a boundary, a gate
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