There was a door & then a door

surrounded by a forest.

Look, my eyes are not

your eyes.

You move through me like rain heard

from another country.

Yes, you have a country.

Someday, they will find it

while searching for lost ships . . .

Once, I fell in love

during a slow-motion car crash.

We looked so peaceful, the cigarette floating from his lips

as our heads whip-lashed back

into the dream & all

was forgiven.

Because what you heard, or will hear, is true: I wrote

a better world onto the page

& watched the fire take it back.

Something was always burning.

Do you understand? I closed my mouth

but could still taste the ash

because my eyes were open.

From men, I learned to praise the thickness of walls.

From women,

I learned to praise.

If you are given my body, put it down.

If you are given anything

be sure to leave no tracks in the snow.

Know that I never chose

which way the seasons turned. That it was always October

in my throat.

& you: every leaf

refusing to rust.

Quick. Can you see the red dark shifting?

This means I am touching you. This means

you are not alone—even

as you are not.

If you get there before me, if you think

of nothing

& my face appears rippling

like a torn flag—turn back.

Turn back & find the book

I left us, filled

with all the colors of the sky

forgotten by gravediggers.

Use it. Use it to prove how the stars

were always what we believed