I still think of how this road was made

for us. The sun is different here. Wear

our love like a talisman, ward off
the lines I wrote to demarcate you

from me. They aren’t incarnations

to summon you. I don’t think
this means I really want you

back. In my life, I’m happiest

when I’m moving. Away
from shards of geography, this us

is genealogy leaving imprints

in the shade. If you can’t then I can’t
help you. I’ve been writing poems

about you. I’ve passed moments

around you. What they don’t tell you 
is you don’t win. In films

you sit in the rain and sound

cuts out and ring turns to 
whistle, and blood cells grid-

lock in your temples. Then

to swelled symphony you press
two legs against cement and march

up to his door. Say I’m sorry and

I love you, except you don’t
’cos your psych says

You have impulse issues.

Don’t turn him away with another 
display of manipulation so just

dream in the driver’s seat while wet

through half-open window

seeps through the lens.