it does not exist in blood
virescent discoloration
under the skin

it does not exist in
pills that you counted
as they came up

or in the way i slipped on
foggy wet concrete
rushing to the side of a person

i am still trying to understand

how do you tell a state that you love her

by telling every tree in your yard

by lighting the candle of her name
in your heart

by tattooing her on your arm

with increasing intensity

last night smoke and ash
covered the city
and upon breathing it
i took in santa fe's despair

now i must carry it
like heavy stones
in wet pockets

you, like so much moon stone
rough;
captivating

i have picked five books
three dresses and a pair of shorts
the extra room in my suitcase
i have filled with
your breasts
your hips
the flat planes of you
the arch of ribs
your iron blood
40 teaspoons of salt
the fine angel hairs
at the back of your neck

i have picked five books
three dresses and a pair of shorts
i have also packed you
so please help me,
when i arrive,
unpack you

white cake
dark smoke
this is hell
the deepest pit

remember when my feet couldn't reach the ground?
yes, sometimes,
it feels a lot
like that.