What Stays After Falling Out

We don’t talk anymore but you left
your hat at my house

And once after classes
you told me you dreamt of an angel
that she asked you to tell
three people of her coming. You were
crying. Our friends played Frisbee
in the bus lane, a neon disc
passing like one halo between them
occasionally dropping.

And the nights driving. On 1626
I stopped at a red light with no one around
You were incredulous, like how
could a color like red
mean stop for boys like us, who bite
the heads off centipedes
and peppermint liquor bottles, many
of which we refilled with water
and placed again
into the cabinet

I miss that world
you led my hand into
with everything unclaimed
until we touched it


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