the air till it took off the roof
of his house. He discarded me
like a cigarette **** till I burnt him
from the inside out. He said

his pieces held together by
a string till I cut the string. And they
scattered like the autumn leaves,
like acorns falling from the trees.

He played up
his life in his work
like a painter does with colors
wet on the canvas of
their imaginations. The starry

night in swirls of blue and
gold. He danced so light they called him
twinkle toes. He danced all over me,
but tripped on himself.