On Imaginings

I was turning the subject of you over in my head

for much of the day. I was debating the ethics of silence.

I was missing the you in my head.

I was missing the you that was there.

I miss our imaginings. And I keep thinking, don’t lose it

---

that spark, whatever turns the covers over, don’t lose it.

not in a mud-streamed panic, whatever gets you showing

up for work, keeps your eyes peeled. open, moldy bananas.

---

such sweetness too, though the rotting

and sore imaginings. the world is full anyway.

rusty, but full, and there’s a strong expression

of expanding past perceived limitations.