I wanted to climb
wander small pools
of black cacti blood
 at the City of Rocks
but the owl’s heart-shaped face
 left no room for collapse
and I’m more languid than that.
I have you in my palms
 don’t want your bone-toss
on the phone as our temperature drops
 and we list toward winter.
I’ll strike my match
 on a blue Texas absence
 reusable gloves
wake to your grandfather’s gritty obituary.
 You’re not my polestar
and it’s well past time
I start to work out my arms.