(1.)

To the woman
who never dared admit that she was lonelier
for having met me

I still think of you
when snow unbecomes itself
upon my skin

and of how right you were

that in time
we will come to envy  
everything

for the ease with which it leaves us.

(2.)

To the woman who fell in love
with the wrong sort of amateur magician
on the hopes he could split her in two
and content himself with only half

(the half with the port wine stain that looked like a Jovian storm)

my tricks are merely words, love

ornate frames that cradle
interruptions of a vacuum

like grief
it’s all just sleight of hand
that parts
the memories
from dreams

and I hardly ever remember tomorrow

but take comfort in this

I do not dream of you again until death

and even then
it’s only in shadows
                             dancing
                             in the crack of light
                             beneath the door.

(3.)

to the woman
who said death was just
a more forgiving kind of loneliness

what a lovesome cruelty
this thing we mistook for romance

of course we are helpless to 
                                              when something calls
we’ll always stumble back to where we were loved
                                               on unexpected terms

         like drunks   hurrying back
         to the distant laughter of ghosts
         beneath the covers

somedays I forget why I got sober
somedays I think I never did

but then I hear you
begging
your own body

not to kill more of your children

and I remember
the sheer inexperience
this world has
in loving women

and that I am not alone in that.

(4.)

to the woman who chose my heart
                             in the same way
that a cat picks a quiet corner of the house to die in

my head still tries to leave my neck
when my body turns to meet you
in the middle of its nowhere

somehow it knows
where you reside
better than my eyes do

it’s a breathlessness
a toothless winter
biting at my wounds

today it was the way the snow died
just to fit through the rotten board in the roof

today you were the color of rust
of a body unlearning itself

and I spent every minute of it
holding on

like a fool.