This is where we walk slowly
My arm linked in yours
The park slipcovered in rain
Bare trees gone black with crows.
Your hair is fading
To the color of a clouded fish eye
You are made of crystal and syntax and
I’m not sure about me.
I have learned to read your posture
Your hand signals for gravity, for eternity
The meaning of the space beneath the table
Where our knees don’t touch
Which is to say I know both our hearts
Are dead things dredged up to die again
The best parts of us build a church, The worst parts
trail after this nation of birds
Hollow bones aching with expectation.

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