the moon forgot  
how to be round tonight  
and i
i misplaced my name  
somewhere between  
your shoulder blade  
and the breath  
that almost said  
stay

(why do clocks insist  
on knowing everything  
about leaving)

i tried to write  
but the letters curled inward  
petals afraid of morning  
and the sentence  
ran away  
with the silence

you were never a person  
you were a parenthesis  
i stepped into  
and never stepped out of

the sky  
is not blue  
it’s memory  
trying to remember  
how to feel

i loved you  
a comma  
pausing before  
the thought  
that never arrived

and if i could  
unbutton the stars  
i’d fold them  
into paper cranes  
and send them  
to the version of me  
that didn’t forget  
how to feel

but i did  
and you did  
and the world  
keeps spelling itself  
wrong