if i could reach across
the cold field of your stare, across
this waste i have plowed, if i
could find any living thing
left in our garden,
would you water it with your tears?
did you think i couldn’t
hear you slip your heart into an overnight
bag? that i was struck silent by the power
of your lips? a cold monument unaware
of the draft you left in our bed?
do you think i’m a blank page waiting
for you to retrace the paths
of our love, that i am
a pillar of salt ready
to dissolve in the first wash of your tears?