i.
in a city of
brine and tarnished






anchors
sits a boy’s features, scorn-muddled.

and stapled to untouched slabs of
cobalt, I watch from the riverbank
as he grows
smaller

and

smaller
like dragonfly wings
crossways a murky sky.

Stonewater Creek chains
me as he



watches,
not looking, but







watching,
seeing, taking
in—

(what does Goodbye mean?) I implore,
my throat a thorn-wedged


mess.

but he doesn’t reply

And
my world leaves me behind on teal
water

And
I bury my love for him
in parched chunks
of dead
earth.

all plants
departed,

all soil
a cracked clutter,


like the crevices

that

divide us.

ii.
watching him fold and craft
my consciousness like a rumpled fabric
comforter, I drift


away at moonpeak,




with him hidden in myself:

and the moon descends into


us-crevices, and I wonder
if he rose early
or welded his eyes.

(sometimes it’s the observers
that have the most fun)
he voices

to me


as he wakes,




and

the best year
of my life was when he

was gone.

a million years ago



when they







arched their eyes
skyward, they saw not blazing starspecks


but pinpricks




in a black paper—

what light was on the other side?


iii.
I live in two fringes—
anchors

and loose ends
a cup of strings



and a cup of segments

the real question is
which side holds the

pricks
and which side holds the





(stars?)