Skylight

You were the skylight for my mountain,

the sunroof for my eyes.

You traded them for your own,

one eye for the other:

every small movement of my head

followed you in a corner.

You told me you couldn’t sleep alone—

and even there you were so unachievable

home with you had a feeling like forever.

Ah…I have climbed my mountain

and written your name in the sand.

I have lingered in the waves, your sunlit beaches

carving your name with flint

on the rocks that line the shore.

The waves, I know, will wipe them away.

You were the skylight for my mountain,

the telescope to my skies.

In time I have watched my ceilings descend from above me;

my raised arm reaches them easily,

lying across from me in the bed

the movers will take tomorrow

(How much did you sell it for?
How I despise the sight of your boxes against the wall)

my fingers leaving easy smudges

on the surface of your glass.

I wish there could have been more

for me to give you.