A Foreclosed Moon

for Linnea

It feels like something
broke and I don’t know
how to fix it or if there’s
anything to fix. Laying
in bed I stare at your
robe that hangs blue
on the door, the flower
print burning into my
eyes. I was so— angry
angry at you; hateful.
When I say hate understand this;
that it is only my passion for you
for us — unhinging my reason –
I didn’t even know
I could
feel that way
toward you.
But all things
in equal measure.
Sitting in my apartment
alone, already seeing your ghost spinning
spinning, spinning — how did we
get here? This dark night with the broken
streetlamp and the foreclosed moon
separated by the lonely sound of an empty
tin can blown by the wind?
so strange, how one can take
a million steps without thinking
and never fall— something
as simple as one foot in front
of the other, just doing
what we always do
and then that one step
that one step too far,
and we’re falling
falling in that space
between before and after
trying to catch our balance
reaching out for something
for something to hold

—and it happens

all so fast.


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