movie tickets and birthday cards
the things i found under my bed when i packed the car
a last look at the back roads, the clearer lens
where i first saw you running your hands along the fence

i pass the places we’d go with no explanations
but the secrets in our dresser drawers, and the palpitations
i see the sunlight in the window how it would dip on your face
i feel the chapped lips, the foreheads, my fingers, your waist

on the shore where we’d go to roll up our sleeves
and claim to be something more than four sandy knees
we can only be what we can’t be without
on the shore where we’d go to have our names drowned out

the glasses, the sweater, the first day i met ya
packed neatly into a cardboard box
in black we were dressed, remembering the best,
i should probably say goodbye, but i’m not

now a glance out the window is daring me to exchange
the images in my head with what stands in their place
so to the histories and the mysteries i say goodbye
i pass the places we’d go to with a left at the light

it was three in the morning, they were four simple words
seven seconds of silence to prove what i’d heard
it’s not the air we breathe, but the breaths in-between
realizing what we got, and letting it go free

the glasses, the sweater, the first day i met ya
packed neatly into a cardboard box
when the door swings open, i’ll eye the chosen
saying i’ve lost a lot, but i’m not