Apologetic

I loved all the things so much I tried

to stick them one to another. I spit

my gum between the cushions

and the hinges and the nestlings

and the pages. I loved anything, kept it

wadded together. Wanted everything

to be something else too, like a queen

could be a heart, like a heart

could be a fire hazard. To be exactly

what it wasn’t, the way the day could be

an ending. It’s true, I put the rocks back

in the hole the workers dug for the pipes

on account of rocks belonging there

just as much as the water. My mother called

and made me carry them back up,

which it turns out is a lot more work

than throwing rocks in a hole. The day,

it ended. We didn’t. We tricked cards, set

minor fires until they disobeyed our orders

to stay minor. We ran all night. Took

to threatening the moon. That was when

I taped it all together, everything even

my mouth to yours. Until the only noises

we made were the names of birds that died

out so long ago no one remembers

how they looked. Just the sound

we gave to each of them. Sounds which

might even have been the ones they made.