Maybe we could patch the miles together
with my skipping bones and your curls,
woven across the plains.
Your letters blanket the desk,
a field of broken seals, broken hearts,
the miles of distance in a paper graveyard.
In the night, my sadness masked by the dark—
You’d leave like a nightmare.
I hope the doorstep tripped you,
pulled out your breath from behind you,
and left it under the mat.
You swept me away
and I’ll never forgive you for that.
The Poem Explorations of Mr. Creery 