Your Heart Stopped
Inside a cave made
of ice is a fire
crackling time bluish—
the only now is
the time
we barely had.
Underneath is
a river
running away—
butterflies in back
ward pain slicing
wings absently.
Which weekend
is it now and with
who?
I touch your back
to rid open of the
poison sleeping in
your bones.
It is not enough
to keep you
from falling
into the river through
a hole we forgot
to plug.
It is quiet now.
I still feel you.
Sometimes I talk
to you in whispers
so no one else hears.
It is vacant here
like space.
I like to believe
you are listening,
half-angel,
misguided into
empty light.
