I dream sometimes of a post-it note:
“Hey girl. I’m sorry. You win.”
And then I write, “Oh hey.
Didn’t even notice you’re still alive.
I’m sorry, too. We both win.”
And I tear it up in a hundred bits
and I blow it outta town.
OR I send it with a bluebird
straight to you
and both our hearts grow
three sizes that day.
But hey, come on,
I said it was a dream.
Hearts grow around the holes
and they can grow three sizes anyway
just accepting the way things are.