last night he says

I will be in her life - as long as she wants me to be

I will always be there for her

and something inside you breaks a little

shatters, the shard lodged there

just there

I'm sorry, you say, that's just a bit triggering for me to hear.

Then opening your computer to find the photo of him waiting

the little note, with the heart on it,

slipped in by josé, and you say:

oh.

What is it? Michelangelo asks, and you say, José brought me my things.

Show me, show me. Show me, me.

From the altar

Show me, show me.

He takes it gently, looks at the skyline. The art deco skyscrapers,

Central Park so iconic. You tell him about the matching photo, 

the pair. It is clear in your mind, your memory.

These images, these photos you search for in the digital world, 

in boxes, everywhere, everywhere, even if you cannot find them,

they are there, perhaps in the safest place, your mind.

Writing a letter to love this morning, about what is precious,

your own song comes on, a meditation on the same medium,

sacred plums, bruises and joy, mixed together, 

into something we could never hold.