I wouldn’t stay alive for you either.
But know this: I lived on
the same street where you grew up.
The future was before that
doorway, asphalt, and old schoolyard
where I watched the sunset colors swirl
a voice among the clouds. The words
came wafting from far off
when your face began to peel off my wall
and our bodies blinked out past the bend.
Like all false things you have an end.
I knew you when I fell off from a cliff
and heard you laugh below the sea.
The pebbles spelled aloud your name.
It must have been the rift, the wind
drifting in its riffraff way.
It must have been the water.