"This is the last poem that will
@4 days ago with 1974 notes
ever fashion it’s backbone from
the hollow echo of your name.
What is gone is dead. Ok.
I can’t keep aching for you.
Last week I was in Montana.
The night sky is so big there it
swallows you. There was a time
I would have looked up at the stars
and thanked you for hanging them.
Enough. Enough of that now.
All day long I’ve been thinking
I’m safer alone."