last summer i dug two graves i hope never to fill

forgive me / i say to the haloes together we crayon
around the heads of each dying bird / dropped by distant
wildfires onto the lawn / & our ungentle sweeping away
of the tainted honeycombs / the bees know never to return to
smoke as a metaphor / for what’s been irrevocably taken from us
has its limits / someone is always cocking their finger up at
undocumented clouds cutting across the sky / as if everything
is a border / as if this entire house & everything in it is ours
i hold her hand holding a fresh bottle of whiteout as it vanishes
the pronoun the world has shouldered her with / even through
our masks the looks our neighbors fire back / as we all choke
together on the air / which tastes like gunpowder & rust &
knowing forgiveness is a dull blade i refuse / to ask them
about the unburnt acreage between us / or if the pie they left
on our stoop eight years ago was really a parting gift / a symbol
/ a prayer / how holy it seems now / the way dead stars reach
across heaven after heaven to find us here / as a phosphorescence
/ as proof / an unwritten history / tonight i promise her the world
& everything in it / will never love her more than / these chipped
crayons dragging haloes through dust & soil & ash / how together
i swear / we can learn to breathe it