a boy you once kissed
died four years ago
& the obituary didn’t say why
you are older now than he ever will be

spring grows thin
stretched to a thread
no color to it
you read about memory in scientific journals
how tenuous it is
a breathless expanse of red mesas & sadness

i remember his bedroom
there used to be an ocean here

like a glass marble sitting in a bird’s nest
lodged in my throat
i am saturated with the cold pointed light of dead stars

it is our right after all
the destruction of gray matter
a blurred moon
& a hope the sun never rises
it is in our right

i cannot fault him for that

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