Crane.

plastic selves and the insides
of broken knees,
staring into neighbors'
mirrors i blame my emotional
issues on you and waterfalls:
if it weren't for both,
my cheeks wouldn't be wet.


number two erasers and
pencil wood between my teeth,
i calligraphy some Mozart
and Eliot i left at the other house
onto the ends of my words,
hoping for a little more grace
than i've always got:
half to impress You,
and whole to let Us breathe.

empty pavements and dimming
headlights,we go to bed when
we're awake, and awake when
we're tired, promising one day:
it will be better.
one day, it will all be Good.
because all of this feels like a dream
i've had, but can never remember,
and Yours is the only face
i want to hold at night.