last quarter moon

hold your smile like a steak knife.
i want to lock the doors
but i know it is not yet time. 
what do you do with the memories
you cannot bury alone?
everything is almost almost almost. 
a cracked back door.
a tree hanging on by a wince. all the animals 
carry their crown jewels
& rebury them where no one else
can see. i pluck out my eyes
like white grapes & ferry them
to a safe dresser drawer. the moon 
has loose teeth. sheds all her nightgowns 
for a portal into our aging sky.
birds fall like dropped shoes. i tell the moon
she shouldn't be spying on us 
like this. she knows it is soon time 
for her to sleep. i too can be found a sliver 
in my bed. burning the midnight oil
& reading a headline about the end of the world.
i keep thinking, "isn't it here yet?"
the end of the world i mean. i try to cut
all my wants in half & then cut the half
in half. do you remember that strip mall
with the trader joes where we used to
always get in a fight? i loved the glow
of the shop fronts. once, we stood there
in front of your jeep & the sea gulls
took bites out of the moon.
i bet you it tasted like salt water taffy.
back at home your window
was full of light. the moon whispered you
all the glass shoes you wanted 
& that i couldn't give you. now 
once more, the can opener comes.
a glimpse at sweet honeyed peaches.
schools of raspberry fish.
i'm saying, "it's okay to watch me,
i am watching you too." a shared vigil
is just a love poem. i swear 
i can see your tongue. 

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