I found bones, digging for treasure, for an island,

for another universe in a backyard that had a broken tire

that never swung and the detritus of cigarettes that missed

the mouths that shaped them: missed kissing and secrets and

rolling tongue-tips that searched the air for nicotine and cologne.

She shaped her word carefully, No, and took my spoon,

dropped it in the kitchen sink to clink and settle

into the soft curve of a plate of little blue flowers.

The treasure, the island, the universe were to wait.

The digging that day had finished, now we were to sit,

and remember, and she sucked fire in with each breath,

exhaling dead air. I watched and curled my hands over my shoes,

tugging the laces tighter and tighter, sealing myself in.