—WHEN EVERYTHING IS LONELY, I CAN BE MY OWN BEST FRIEND

off the shelf

today I

took the

shoebox

from the shelf

blew

a skein

of mauve

dust off

the lid

and sorted

through every

sacred

piece of us

all the

tender bits

the bitter bits

we probably didn’t

really

mean

though they /

you /

me /

were

really

really

mean

at the time

and it was

impossible

not to smile

or cry

chuckle

clutch my heart

or reach

for a tumbler

of cabernet

just not to

feel

like that

it was

an exercise

my latest

conceptual

behavioral

therapist

equates with

closure

a wake

but the thing is

I still

hear /

see /

feel /

the wake

slap up against

my dull

skull

day and night

like an

ocean boulder

stuffed so full

and satisfied

with itself that

it doesn’t notice

the shale

flaking off

follicle by

follicle

turning into

the sand that

rides the waves

washing

up on a

beach 

like diamonds

too furtive

and slick

to catch