twentytwenty

an expansive succession of months,

stillness and volcanic movement

a blood-bathed hacksaw 

taken to the hedgerows of my life

unfinished in its infinite divisions

and I never could wrap my head around calculus 

the ungraspable whole

so I draw focus to the minutiae:

rain pooling in the open palms of nasturtium;

the afternoon sun in the bathroom gilding the edge of her pale, impossibly fragile shoulder blades;

the sea foam like an ancient lace collar as we bury our feet, arms heavy with hot paper-wrapped chips and fish 

replanted, a graft of foreign skin

my toes are caked in soil,

a grief muddies the hem of my dress 

I’m gasping at my year and how far we’ve come

to be only two streets over

But here you are, 

always coming home 

when you say 

you will