GPS directions to your house on the moon

you never told me you moved
but i assumed when i saw the moon
stippled red. i climb a staircase 
& you are not there. you were never
the sarcaphogus i thought. opening
every container you gave me 
in the hopes of finding a useful skull.
i open the window to make
moon water. by which i mean
i am doing magic with the thought
of seeing your space garden. pacing
my life like a hallway. painting
all the walls of the house black
until the space inside is only
as large as a grasp. did anyone notice
how alone i let myself be?
i am grieving the caves of myself.
pushing a shopping cart of cellphones
towards a blackhole. puncture wound.
digital clock. i take out my phone
whose battery i quickly becoming
a dead beetle. ask the machine
to take me to you. a blue umbilical cord
tethered to the moon. i follow myself
across a cheese clothe sky.
mesh & holes & holy. how to be
the muscle you need. unchanged.
you stood as a house inside a house.
holding my breath to survive
in space. your flowers all dried 
& petal blown in the galactic winds.
you are home & not home. you would not
remember me if i pleaded. that is not
how a heart works. cannot be made
to recall a face. the way dirt
spits toads back into the spring
after a long winter. my cell phone dies
& have no way home. i could jump 
of course & land in the wild ocean.
you talk to a mirror until it becomes
a whole separate mouth. i do the same.
how easy it is to find your own factions
if given a box to do so.
space ships break open. debris
makes a ballet across the stars.
there is no such thing as earth
for me to return to. inside your house
inside your house i knit my own.
sit quietly & hope you won't notice
i have written a future inside 
your present. do not mind me.
i am just spilling 
every parcel of myself.