it’s a
downward
slope and we’re
marching upstream

only violent hands can pull
tender memories, wrapping,
working around the throat
‘til they rise to the surface
choking out a little life
even (only) as it fades
the obscurity, obsidian
gift me lapis lazuli so that
we might crack it in half
the stench of our memories
swirling around a brain, half
remembering, half asleep
one foot dipped in the clear blue
the other dragged down by waves
it matters not, for all the same
it’s cast in fog to blur out the cracks

if you could take it back, would you
return the parts, slightly used
wondering how to measure the
value of what was lost or how
to pay the price for all
the things we broke,

all the things
we gave