Lizzy Burnam 🐞

I love the dying things—
the wilted rose, 
the waning moon, 
the thought 
that comes and goes 
without passing 
through the teeth. 
I love 
the love that leaves. 
I love the yellowing 
autumn trees. 
I love the shedded hair, 
the flakes of skin, 
the wound that bleeds.
I love the grasses grazed by fat cows, 
the silage turned to cud. 
I love 
the lungs that fill with fluid 
and the joints that throb 
and creak. 
I love the sneakers stepped in mud,
the holes in rubber soles, 
and the rabbit-eared laces 
pulled undone. 
I love the old souls, 
the scar-keepers, 
the relay from death to death. 
I love 
the creek that overflows 
and floods the storage cages. 
I love the moments kept
in cardboard boxes. 
I love the jutting ribs 
of hungry foxes. 
I love the squirrels they chase. 
The wasted time. 
The Stepford wives. 
The distance 
from the window 
to the street. 
I love it all—the lives
we lead, 
the fate we meet.