These days more out of sorts than ever
a thief to lock pick in lockstep
with the bass and the tremble of
modern collapse,
a short stack of train wrecks,
fingers gliding over indices,
I pluck all the letters of your name
squirrel them away
make sure you never go
unspelled
unensorceled
make sure you never
go quite where you thought
the song would take you.
Some days
I just make sure you go. 
You are an ache
in the tips of my fingers
the bones protesting winter,
the body remembering spring,
the heart replete and ready
to fall.