& some nights fishtail out from under me
& i’m left kneeling, winded
& it is then i have no careful songs left in me, lover
& no eyes to see silver for the clouds
& i am fury, a full stop.
& it is then i see there was no space for my hard parts
& no room in this house built for gentle things
& this, this is how i learned to leave – through the kitchen window when the joy ran dry.
& this is how i found my shrapnel on the street
& i pocketed it next to your ring
& breathed again as neither drew blood.
& this is why i walked beneath the canopy, the late-blooms
& felt the last of the frost go the way of the monarch, up
& over & through the soundless tunnels between us.