I sometimes go months without remembering you.
Some griefs bless us that way, not asking much space.
mocking with an ache
that comes with leafdrop, woodsmoke,
and those shots of bourbon that ease
not a thing
Look, the flowers you nearly bought
Have lasted all this while.
Wasn’t it beneath this spot the son of Kronos
pursued his inamorata, holding out a handful
of shining seeds?