dead on arrival.

i know there’s not much to a box of used crayons

when labor day gives them away,

but do you remember the oiled pigment

staining your fingernails, staining your shoes

when they ground beneath the carpet and the soles?

do you remember your smile, your squint, your childish

determination and pride? you scribbled the world at

dusk and i asked why we still watch sunsets if

we know how they end.

and did you hear the music threading through

lawn mowers and storms last night, did you dance with me?

i should’ve guessed that the stars preferred

the sun to the moon (like calls to like), but maybe

they needed a silent love. still, your heart

beats like cicadas’ wings and i thought it would

keep me awake forever (and i thought for once

that would be alright).

and we never did get to play chess

but i’ve still got you in check;

it’s your move.