She said -

“Heaven is too far

from where we are.

These feelings are peeled 

from my bones - it feels too soon

to wish on that star

that was always too far.

And I think of you

as the man in the moon -

shining pale-bright -

I’d wish that day could be night. 

I feel as delicate and soft

as those paper moths

trapped in their silken cocoons. 

She said -

“You are the light

in my stain-glass window,

the poem in my mouth.

Remember that sometimes

it is the hard metal

on the windchime

that can remind

you of how soft the wind blows.

Life doesn’t always rhyme.”

She said -

“I am the moon

and you are the night - 

you bring out the best in me.”

She said “I’m something of an anchor -

dragging

and causing a stir.”

My head said - “You’re such a love-drunk fool.”

But my heart told me - “It’s not your fault

that the world seemed so cruel.”

She said -

“How can I be dissappointed

when tomorrow comes -

how can you feel these things

inside your bones

when my spine becomes a wishbone

and my throat a stairway for these feelings?

Hold me and build me up

like the moon over the fog-drunk sea,

wearing the new dress that the sun just gave her -

ask her to dance before she sobers up.

A stage as sky-blue

as the fist of the play-ground bully -

when things you touch begin to turn gold

hold your wishes close

and press shells to your ear

and pray the sounds will scatter like prayers.

I do not know how to feel

but these wishbones tell me to keep telling

and this moon tells me to keep dancing

and these things inside that nobody can see

tell me to search for  

words that can give a helping hand

because this world is more full of weeping

than I’ll ever understand.”

She was the kind of girl 

who made hurricanes

in other people’s weathervanes. 

A poet - who lied

to make me believe in heaven.

She would break your heart

just to plant seeds in the cracks -

a voice which glowed in the dark. 

She would make me cry

for all the right reasons. 

She said, “Lover, I’m so dead -

so dead-set on living.

I know that those bones inside

can only do so much forgiving.”

As she looked up

into the night sky

she said -

“I cannot help but think that space,

isn’t all that spaceous.”

And when you remember

that there are more stars in the night’s sky

than grains of sand

in the world -

then you’ll know how we felt

when we were counting each speck,

letting them slip between our fingers

and letting them fall

to a world she was so eager

to fly from.

She said “If I were a star

I’d jump - not fall.” And sometimes,

I think she did. On those days

when the sky seemed a little too cluttered

I retreated to my room, and from this room

I missed you. Books full of pencils 

and paint - notes that rustled 

like trees. On a calendar you could cross off days

as easily as you could see the moon at noon

on a day when nothing seemed to have gone right.

“Keep looking up for that star who jumped.”

she said with a smile.

Even God

has his (holy) ghosts. And like us,

He knew what it felt like to have loved

and lost. Nowadays, she fastens her raincoat

one button at a time,

like a life-jacket - muttering 

“Just try to stay afloat.

Must try harder.”

She said that she loved older music -

simply because it was on Vinyl records.

How the needle would pull away

after trying to find the music…

She said that records were too easily broken

for something she loved so much.

She said that they not only sang about the heart

but could break like it too.

She turned to me and asked -

“Do you think angels have hearts

and bones?

Which do you think is easier to break? 

Do you think angels

can rhyme in time

and feel the rain 

in their veins

like I can? 

I’ll tell you what I think -

I think that I am second-hand smoke

lost in a breeze, I’m deadly and going places.

I am a wooden ship in a glass bottle 

where these storms cannot reach me.

I am December looking at the summer

and only seeing the burn. 

I am the paint in Mona Lisa’s eye.”

She said “When I saw you

I stopped believing in Jesus

and started believing in you.

At night I scream at the stars

because I know that they are wishing on me,

I scream ‘I can’t make all these dreams come true,

but I can and will always love you.’ “

And placing a hand on my chest, she said -

“I know that angels have hearts and bones,

and I know which is easier to break.

I know the world is full of too many unknowns,

but I feel better knowing that even angels can ache.”