It isn't so much that I can't
let him go as that I need
to do it over and over again--
lose him every single way
he can be lost.
Sometimes I want
to take hedge-trimmer to my soul,
carve it into some recognizable shape-- snail,
or rabbit, maybe apple, giraffe--
anything to make it stop
wearing my heart like a bracelet.
I keep stitching you back
into silence-- crude black sutures
threaded through your lips.
No wind, no matter how cold, how far blown,
has ever howled for me the way
your body does the way your voice does
through the black lines sewing up
a thousand miles of bad roads
Please stop calling."