He says I’m not fully present, asks why?
My head is elsewhere though I try to stay
in my red dress, I grip the hem and cry.
I want to touch him, but he moves away.
How odd that I can’t settle under stone.
I drift between skyscrapers, rainbow trees.
So many lives have gone before my own.
How did they find a way to be at ease?
I walk between the cemetery rows.
My memories walk with me. They survive
as light in cloudy windows. I suppose
that he might sense them, find them too alive
to bear. I’d let him go if I knew how,
but I’m half here—and he is leaving now.
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