Status Updates From Love Prodigal

The pain of suffering warms into / the pain of healing. Bright and raucous. I call back from / my shore, yes, I know this abundance. I know — like / the elegy, it will always return, insistent, wild with song.

What’s the word for / twin solitudes who don’t make it to the next / anniversary? Let’s not name it yet, but what can / we call smoke pouring out windows so fast and thick, / the moon mistakes it for a pond and tries to lie / down on it?

What’s broke cannot be healed with anything but superglue / and imagination. Still, let it be tended to. / Let it be tender. Let’s imagine a miracle / together ar a distance, the reunion / of a pronoun and its first verb. I’m not / over it — the elk’s blood blackens the bottom / of the fridge, and when I wipe it, it leaves / a pink quarter, blood ghost, hunger stain / in the shape of your birthmark.

Reading this so slow because I don't want it to end