When she was in the garage she tried to kiss me one last time
where I had kissed the time I spent on fixing you goodbye.
And in her tart saliva I could taste your coming bitterness
but I didn’t mind. I’d already left you behind.
The cataclysm came much quicker that I’d ever thought.
A question split the cord, confession twisted in knots.
From your metalic tears I mind the iron for a battleship,
but you didn’t fight. You’d already left me behind.
And in a week on Hilton Head, the water taught me how
salt water can cleanse, or it can break a building down.
In the morning light I eyed the shore to find the ediface,
but I couldn’t find a single spire left behind.
Like newborn day, like epitaph.
Like a dream forgotten, how it passed.
These better angels welcome home,
from empty tombs, oh how they’ve flown.
Still, sometimes I forget the words reversed and upside down.
A child so badly written you can’t help but help it drown.
But from those jumbled letters I’ve assembled something wonderful.
Something all mine that I can’t leave behind.