I have to let in all the light
I can bear,
and it’s still not enough.

Over the years you have been erasing
all traces of yourself,
pulling everything into the ground
behind you.

Once I believed in you
the way I believed in maps
and the way home. I was wrong.

The seasons proceed,
and we reach inside each other,
begin living a new kind
of weather.

You live now only in my most inward life,
spread out, like pieces of a shell at the shore.