slow bird leaving

my chest forgets how to end a breath so the air stays curving around the shape of a name I never said out loud inside the ribs something older than me is learning how to cry with my eyes I am the place where your absence grew skin and the skin learned my pulse every time I blink a small country dies behind my eyelids I keep walking through the smoke carrying the last light of it in my mouth it tastes like the way you once looked at me before we both became careful I would unmake every good thing I ever did if it meant you could sleep without dreaming of leaving hold me like the last warm thing before the dark learns mercy I am not asking to stay I am asking to be the reason the dark hesitates my hands keep making the shape of your shoulders even when there is nothing there the shape remembers how heavy love is when it is trying not to break if I disappear let it be slow let the last sound be your name leaving my body like a bird that finally remembers it can fly