How you’ve made me miraculous and mute. 
How all I do is dance inside this tongue, 
study your mouth, the curve of your back.
I remember everything, 

engagement over ham and cheese. Cancer 
with a lemon twist.
What I'd doubted, I’d always doubted — medicine, mileage, 
and would my own throat ever unraw itself 

long enough to sing your name, your watery goodnights, 
my promise to never look back.

First, it was my lute, then, a phone charger. Metamorphoses
dog-eared and dozing in the back of the car. 
I keep leaving things behind 
and I hate to turn around again.

It’s a big hospital, a vast parking lot.
It takes a while.