Breakup Poetry

It’s far—too far to hold it now
in hands, cupped, held out on that
delicate limb. The substance slips—
it misses, but
it moves me through the days
of years and years and years, quietly
tugging, attached to my chest, dug in
deep—there she is, and: there, too, is she—such ancient smiles—

like dug up history—there, and there, and over there, she is.