something, on fire, emerges from the gas station bathroom
& slides into your car.
eyes like watermelon, sweet soda,
let's imagine everything is a something
the entire past condensed
into a single exhale of smoke
out a single window. the moon,
throbbing with a sadness i would not find a name for
until losing you.
a new forest just means
something bad happened here
& our bodies, marbled with wine stains,
happened here too.
the house i grew up in; on fire,
the blackbirds in the ice-rink parking lot; on fire,
the sun always warm on
one arm &
the sun, the sun;
on fire too.
call it a controlled burn,
mothers and fathers
with swollen knuckles in a rotary phone, tell them
"i'm sorry i've been distant but
i just didn't want to be sad anymore."