Still Life of Our Unraveling

When the seasons were turning and you didn’t know

how to dress. Your breath was hot and the sun

was hiding. Where were you when you rested

your head on my chest? I heard it in your exhale.

The slow release of your escape. You were building

and then destroying and then destroying

again. We either die or fizzle out into someone

new. You were always good at the latter.

The night we sat on the porch all night and the rain

still touched your skin. I don’t know how to write

about you. How do I fit all of that life in these lines?

Everything you need to know about uncertainty

I found in your bed sheets. All sweat and spiraling

into the stray strands of your hair. The sun was barely rising

and your chest falling. What did you do with all that

silence? As was always true, it was not up to me

who you were or how you were

or the secrets you kept from yourself.