I saw dried flowers in her canvas bag
and knew it was September.
I was keeping papers in plastic crates
and stopped dreaming about bowling alleys.
If the shoe fits we said hit the ground running,
I loved laces at 25 but velcro at 26.
I thought maybe Seattle or between a river,
we thought maybe the F train toward an ocean.
We thought maybe about forgetting,
the Hudson was to be beautiful that day.
All things lovely we threw the laptop into the sky
smashing so many things to pieces.
Joni sang of falling stars burning up
while I thought about us sometimes.
She sliced each plantain thick in Brooklyn
while I slept without a sound.
We were on a thinning bed and
constellations were peeling from the ceiling
and a few were in each sky
and you dragged your neck in my spine.
The physics of lift said this is how we lose her
the earrings tore and the dress broke in two.
There was praying on the subway
for all the light they could not see.
And we thought maybe September
we could walk through entire oceans
greet the waves of crimson leaves,
flowers blooming, die lovingly in our arms.