Everything I’ve lost
keeps blooming somewhere.
I no longer ask where.
Everything I’ve touched
left a mark—
not always visible,
but the dust remembers.
Everything I’ve seen
has gone on seeing.
A bird in flight,
a door left open.
They continue
without me.
Everything I’ve said
hangs in air
longer than I meant.
Some words soften.
Others
hang like stones.
Everything I’ve loved
still leans toward light.
Even what turned away
left warmth
in its absence.
Everything I’ve feared
has changed shape.
Most of it
looks like me,
only quieter.
And still —
everything I’ve lost
keeps blooming somewhere.
