I could not think of a poem
half as holy
as the one you wrote me.
The seam of your sweater,
the piece you left at the terminal,
but I will love it as much as you
(did).
How can a half-kiss leave
more than its remainder.
More than half of me scrambling.
As a mathematician I am useless
(with fractions).
How did I find you
through all the improbability.
How could I let you go
(West).
The infamous West,
hello old friend.
Not so much a direction anymore,
but somewhere not here.
The Poetry wraps her syrup fingers through me,
these are usually about mistakes,
this time I'm not so sure.
It took everything in me to keep going
(North).
and not reverse for care.
