The Order In Which Things Are Broken

the faces smashed first in little ways before

the long drop, an eye or an ear broken, a mouth snapped

in half. Then, lifted from the well, two thousand years

later, still grinning and golden. The loose spooling of two

people fast unravels—how we let go of time spent,

how heat fades, how a body forgets fully what it knew.

I have learned your face as you will never.

The third day we met you gave me all your secrets

until I held an ocean in a cradle. Now all I ask for is more.