Water

These days I imagine a life
without you like one might
imagine the seas ending – the story
moves across barren landscapes
flecked with the debris of
dead civilizations and people
live in tin shanties eating lizards.
The land hates us here – there is
no money and no drugs but love
is also a myth and people die
of poison and knifing all the time.
A cautionary tale, I imagine,
one in which I remember suddenly
that I did not love you well enough
and so deserved this parch. These
days I imagine entering a room
without you and leaving it alone
again like I imagine walking over
your grave like I imagine answering
the question – how could you let her
die? – like I imagine water
floating off of me, aghast, until
I am only dust hovering poised
over a keyboard writing you
poems so you’ll always stay.