coolhandjake

I open a book on the 4th floor of Brooks

And smell the cigarettes we shared on July 4th

Through the concrete that binds your bones,

Large oak, I watch you crawl from Earth

Into the Atlantic miles down

The seashells you sent in the mail

Fell from a tiny hole

empty envelope

A man's voice rings from the brick alleyway

"look at your game girl" melodizing the emptiness

more salt in the sea or sand on the beach

lack you, i will count each