(old one. i’m a cheater.)
we sat for three cycles
of the grass’s artificial dew.
the spray moved down the green,
fading into damp night
like the life dripping from your eyes.
as the daylight stole away,
i dropped the pieces of your heart i’d
been given to the train tracks we were on.
you said you couldn’t take them back.
once, you told me how you used
to tape pennies to the rails
with your dad, and come get them
when they were flat.
the night was achingly beautiful.
dusky fireflies, ironic in that
they still held light.
all sun’s children should have
ceased in respect for your loss.
i still have a stone from that night,
stowed in my bag to remind me of the apathy
stolen unbidden into my heart.