There’s flood mud on my desk
on the third floor
next to a sprig of lavender

Oh, Susan, how did it come to this?
Do you feel too much love,
too much pain, too much of everything?

If I could be a suspension bridge
I could suspend the belief
that at any moment I might fall.

Leaning on an empty bar chair
you were there on Christmas day
a subtle smile lit up your eyes.

Even when it all seems impossible,
know there is still a part of you
that can string macaroni…

A stiff t-shirt
fresh from the clothesline
smelling like sunshine and solitude.

I couldn’t look in the mirror
the day you left.
Your features…

A cement worker in line
at 4 p.m. on a Tuesday,
buying only nips and a twisted tea…

Seven skeins of wool in heirloom white
Grass and sunshine transformed
with the care of a farmer’s steady hand.

I passed you by
in that coffee shop
holding my latte in my hand

I cling to moments
why am I afraid of losing them,
doesn’t it mean I’m living?

The space between us
feels bigger than it’s ever been.
We stay in our bubbles…

I’ll find you in the recesses of your mind
and with my hands, I’ll pull you from
the dark and dust you off.

George and Thelma were in love.
The real forever kind
that doesn’t have earthly boundaries.

How many times
did you say goodbye,
when we were in the kitchen…

He was looking at me
like he always does
eager to love me…

Every day I wander through,
there’s something squeezing my soul.
An ache in my heart.