It was one of the darkest evenings ever—
I was with her by the river:
our feet barely at the bank,
our memories shy and in a village of trees.
We leaned towards silence
to watch a goat drink from a river the moon fell into.
The sky was nothing but the size of a river;
Without falling, a frog leaped from star–to–star.
(The frog was me before I fell for her)
My eyes tripped on the ripples
to mute the questions loud in her stare;
She asked: “Why we are here?”
I laughed out loud like bad grammar,
my whole body became a mouth—
and I spoke to her.
“I don’t want to stop being by your side”,
I whispered
“I have changed my mind about leaving”
I knew the moon will remain even if I drink all of this river.
I knew a boy will remain in her arms
even if I give it my all..
I knew on our river was a moon floating like a mistake.
“You’ve been going to church more often lately”
she said, blinking between the language my body spoke,
her eyes slightly closed as if her eyelids were to pinching my reflection.
I wanted to tell her why I go to church;
I wanted to tell her it is not faith but a heartbreak.
Instead
I opened my mouth to swallow a heartbreak with a kiss.
She stopped me,
covered her mouth with her grandmother’s scarf;
She frowned on fabric
When the moonlight saw this it floated out of the river and hid itself in the pores on
the scarf;
I knew I couldn’t kiss her grandmother’s fingers of wool.
The frog stopped leaping—
It was over.