the art of letting go
I love
your hands
they haunt me
around the trips we
dreamt
I read
all of the books
you gave me, I know everything
about small gardens
we’ll ever
need
to know
there’s a part of me that knows you weren’t
here
but were and it confuses the fundamentals
of what we are
like sand
crabs fighting for air
to wake
from a nightmare
of your own design,
it’s just too familiar
too familial,
I know you
and you know me
but that isn’t as
strong as family, apparently,
but I knew
when we talked
earnestly at the nickel slots
and I knew
for sure that I loved you, and only you
I say yes
to your memory