Evasion

At four in the morning the wind blew the front door open and slammed it, over and over, against the framed picture of that church on the wall.
I left it swinging,
Walked right through the glass on the floor,
into the dark blurry street.
That was the night I found you
Under a tree clinging to starlight and rust.

We tumble down a hill.
Our fingers catch tree bark, rough and rigid,
Dewy leaves coating my skin like unrinsed soapsuds.
Shadows loom in the shapes of things you once held tight. 
You point at the moon. "Shall we go there and never come back?"
Of course. I'd follow you anywhere.

First published in Anti-Heroin Chic, January 2017.