every passing second is another ending

maybe Joni Mitchell                                   is a prophet
or a witch                  I scarred a record of hers once
you know the one                   a kind of premonition

one day I will say goodbye  so hard that my whole
body will blossom                   into a field of poppies
a single      iris      dripping     from each of my eyes

you could be proud           I said no         again today
cut the chord                   I'd used to sing your name
shattered our tune into a thousand tiny bells and
danced toward some doorway

this bruised sea I've crossed      it is the picture of
our great big ending
                             spitting image of a falling red cedar
                  piling her body between yours and mine
kicking         a heel against the door as we stumble
wilted

fog a breath against my window      finger    so long
into the misty film separating us       go away again

I promise you         there is always something good
to walk away from    sweeter still   once you’ve left
you know                 the freedom                is exquisite