You met me by the railroad tracks with a pain quotidien. Thanks
I said as I kicked at the new stakes, black as obsidian. Thanks
for the time you scribbled a note and slipped it in my pocket.
I pulled it out to find advice from the Enchiridion: “Thanks
to this world of things, some depend upon ourselves, others do not.”
What do the stoics know? They never crossed the prime meridian. Thanks
for the time I dropped your birthday cake and you just laughed and shaped the
globs of frosting into a seal, a slug, an ascidian. Thanks
for finding Orion when I sent you photos of the stars, rating
the sunsets and moons, our nightly rituals quotidian. Thanks
for naming the fish you could never keep alive after me. We
buried them together, apologies into oblivion. Thanks
for making this goodbye so hard. I can almost hear the soundtrack
for this moment: heartbreaking chords and echoes in lydian. Thanks.