Phases of Heartbreak
My first city breath without you
brought drafts of soot and sharp pebbles.
I remember how
my throat burned
parched and bloody,
how muddy my mouth turned,
lips parting subway tracks,
carving out a nest
and exhaling
a corner of your absence,
leaving a piece of it there.
I held my breath
the rest of the way back
to an apartment
constructed with our bones,
now, a burial place.
Healing
resembles a sunrise
through a sheet of clouds,
between a skeleton of trees,
over a city of robots,
into a fourth-floor apartment window,
onto floorboards greyed by phantom love,
colorings its cheeks
with warmth, a lovely memory,
adjacent to resurrection.