There’s a skirmish between the grass 

& the wind

& achingly sweet 

birdsongs & treesongs & 

dewsongs & thisiseverythingiveeverwantedtobesongs. 

I stopped writing my poems for you. 

Now I write less poems. 

I want to apologize

for the stalagmites and stalactites 

sticking out of my ribs, Stinky Cheese Man. 

There’s a hole and now it echos. 

I’m sorry the yada yada yada…

I’m smiling more. 

I’ve taught myself things impossible to you

and seen things your lineage / our lineage / hasn’t seen in five hundred years. 

I’ve become Mr. Manifesto since we left.

Sycamore trees have spots

and pecan trees stretch like us in the morning.

Lilac bushes are the breeze’s best accessory

and bluebonnets dance if you look at them long enough.