Memories of this past summer melt
as gold through my fingers, slip
in with the tide. You, the lovely
landscape, human being, naked,
laying in my bed beside me. You,
do you remember, love, how I died?
Was I washed away with the ocean
long ago, swept out to sea?
because that is the last time
I recall feeling alive.
Do you remember the night
that came down on me as
a sharp rain, as a knife
in my hollow chest?

I recall your sunny disposition the
first time we spoke but I can no
longer kiss your collarbone and
tell you how artistic you feel. You and I
float with the sunrise, toss the seashells
from my hair, cast our dreams onto
the barnacle rocks, wake with violins
in our ears and our bellies full.
You take my hand for the first time
on the first frost, give me a shelter
and a grave.

I ask you how I died, when did
daylight end for me? I am empty of
conversation and empty of silver
lining. As the planet collides with another,
I will pluck the stray stars
from the sky, place them on your
lips for when you awake to this
brand new day.

Do you recall
exactly how I died?
The nights stretch into another,
my pot boils over and something
eventually gives under the pressure.
But I expected to feel it
and I don't feel anything anymore.
Do you remember, love,
how you came to me? In my
dreams? In a wave against my
thighs?

Do you remember, love,
how I died? I press my spine
to the earth, watch the shadowy
pines whisper with each bend.
You cannot stop telling me of love
like it is a child on our doorstep,
a place that we are walking to.
You cannot stop reading me
poems of love, you cannot
stop singing of it like it is
something I know or have felt before.
There is nothing I can recall
except that I was once, once, once alive.
Did you let me die alone?

I awake at night, wipe the
sand from my skin and the galaxies
from my eyelashes. Stretch my fingers
out along your abdomen.
I awake with no answers,
no explanations. You are
an early sunrise and I am
adoring the way your skin drapes
over your bones. I recall
love like it is a flashbulb memory,
it is last night's nightmare
in some ways. I try to take
flight as a dove does, grow
tiny irridescent wings. I did
not die alone, I did not die
at all.