A Half Buttoned Reverie

It began with a stone or a sparrow

or perhaps the hem of a sentence

unspoken snagged on my collarbone

where your name used to sit

like laughter left to steep too long

My shoelace is untied again

I let it trail

a banner for battles I no longer argue with

Somewhere behind me

a woman is scolding her child

with the kind of mercy that hurts more

than it helps

I’m passing ivy climbing up

a thing too old to blush

and think

even that holds on better than I do

The sun insists on a narrative

through slatted openings of cloud

but the story keeps skipping

An apple bruises in my palm

I meant to eat it

Or throw it

What were we saying before you

pulled your laughter back like a sleeve

Before I looked at your hand

and didn’t recognize what it meant

There are birds

but they don’t symbolize anything

They’re only flying because they have wings

I turn left

half expecting the wind

to complete my sentence