just practice

hello from the trampoline we used to jump on. from the dried flowers on my desk. the sleeping pills in the trash. your stuffed bear in my arms. the early mornings. the dirty laundry.

i miss you from the driveway where you lingered. from ancient greek class wednesday nights. the chair i hang my bag on. your shirt on my shoulders. the happy days. the soft alarms.

come home soon from my house's welcome mat. from the colored haydn in my binder. the letters by my lamp. your things in a box. the hurt inside. the autumn grass. 

seaweed, ghost crabs; they don't care about makeup or deadlines,
but i'm learning.
not theory
dialectics
solfege
scales

but how to look at my hands
for four hours a day
and not see yours in them.

and how to breathe without
my lung
(i left it on a beach.)
(our beach, along with
you, my dear.)

interrupted facetimes
wooden buttons

and i'm talking about old uncertainties
and how much they don't matter.


there was never anything more quiet than dawn between trees.

and i'm trying to understand how your favorite place can be anywhere without me in it.



do you want to come over
and help me fall asleep?
i still can't seem
to breathe right.

it's been weeks but

i can't

please don't say it
say it. say everything.
i'd rather know
i'd rather not have something
to know.
words are better than hands
but i like your hands.


can i talk about your eyes?
smooth, like lava, and so bright
and so hot and so all over
me

and your mouth, so slow
so soft, like the sunrise
we woke under.
and desperate and wanting
like the storm
we didn't sleep through


and my bed's always been empty
but it's emptier now


barely beating hearts
are still beating.



hello from late evening phone calls.
i miss you from the stacks of stamps.
come home soon.