My listening is brittle but I know you
Saw the smallest things. While I couldn’t see one leaf. I grew big things in my head and I burned them down.
I was small in your dream and I dove into your glass of Coca Cola to do the backstroke.
To balance on a spoon, to wear lungs on our back, to center on a pinpoint deep inside while falling from great lengths.
After you left, you helped us do those things.