yesterday,
i opened my mouth
and you were all that poured out;
i’ve internalized your voice
and now it is all i can hear when
silence falls around me.
we talked over empty tabletops;
over late nights, over early mornings;
over inches away and miles apart;
and then we didn’t at all.

i fell like leaves in the fall—
slow, languid, burning into red
—but also like snow,
cold and fast, whirling in the wind.

yesterday,
they asked me my name
and yours was what almost—
almost—
slipped out; but i caught myself,
and i whispered that i was losing
my voice.

i suppose that i was being completely
truthful—i am losing either way.