transmigration

moon

front to back

I put you in an order

to save you

to write on either side

both sides

of you

and you’re half

the pile you could be.

While I’m away

you’ll sit inside a lidded

binding…

You know how

naïve I am—

and the lengths I go

because of it.

Months ago

these pieces of you

made me

ecstatic.

Now they are flat.

Now they seem

a corpse

surrendered

to the fall.

If something appears

dead, and all

have walked away

is there some shred

of life still?  Could

some drop

of air

falling into the open

mouth of it all

arouse the tongue,

the throat?

Earlier I watched you

merge with a pine

floor.

You floated

before you soaked it.

You.  Not your reflection.

And I thought:

because it’s been so long,

your departing,

I could stoop

and scoop you

like a handful

of snow—

and if I swallowed you

maybe I’d survive

being revived