Catalog of Misplaced Things

Asked to list 10 things I’ve lost, I faltered.

A blue feather, favorite glove, newly cut keys.

Love and flexibility.

You asked me once if you had death inside you and I lied.

After the wake, I waded through tall grasses—skin electric.

I felt guilty for happiness, that I was able to undertake simple pleasures like putting my face in the lilacs or breathing in earth, after rain.

I listened to your last voice message and when I looked on the screen there were violets.

I couldn’t list 10 things.

Inside me, a sonata.

Outside, a day moon.