Even if They Dig

Even if They Dig

they still won’t find anything.

I search for kind memories
before you are gone.

It’s hard to believe you are dying
even with a written guarantee.

Cracks appear
and time enters a different way,

the unconditional
shelf life of kin.

Next year I will glance back-
over the missing,

unpack regrets
like a sky exposed for what isn’t there.

A heart dragged towards windows
to let in the light.

Together I could be whole,
but I am shattered from trying to break even.

Do I care we never cared? Detachment keeps me
behind a troubled haze.

Are you in there gagging on pretense?

When the world
gets this close, it’s hard not to look.

Anger blurs the eyes—a little
but no more than these tears

I’ve been holding in for years.