The golden rush wore away
From exploration,
To excavation

Now, not all this salt is what I
Collected crossing flats or sea,
But seeded by sun upon my skin
From my exertion

However, now I’m not as jaded
Now, not all the green around me
Is green that I found,
But what I planted this morning



There are lessons like the alphabet,
People like handwriting,
Memories like speech

It makes sense for them to matter;
So much sense, I rarely think of them

And sometimes there’s the lesson
In a memory of a person
That’s important for no reason,

Like a paper done last-minute
For a class I never cared about
That counts as half my grade


You’re needy; always listening and staring

Over-tested voices leave your mouth
Entirely articulate,
Most of them unheard of
Or uncalled for

You’re affluent; starved of silence

When your idle eyes and the sounds
Made by your breathing speak for you,
And someone answers
Without waiting for a question


You look at our intertwined hands
Like they’re letters you meant to reply to
And never did

When I tell you it’s fine to let go,
You turn my corners in and fold me
Into the shape of your pocket

Whole or in pieces
I’m still just a tree you were falling from;
One you never meant to climb

But I let you keep me anyways
Even out of sight,
Because I can’t hold onto myself

I Can’t

My words used to reassure you
Easily, if imperfectly

You never used to feel the need
To read my eyes in the morning,
Check my pulse whenever you wake
And find me sleeping a bit too quietly

The looks you give me now that say
You’re scared I won’t be here tomorrow
Are changing into ones that say
You want to leave instead of fear

And the pulse of needless guilt
That keeps you here is dying fast,
And when it does, your words will come
So quietly, and easily, and perfectly,
I almost want to say them for you