you were my kodak worthy memory, my oxygen, my blood
you made my head do cartwheels like driftwood through a flood
we were young. we were different. we danced and mocked our graves
i never thought your hand would slip and you needed to be saved
your mother came and told me, on new years day as well
that her daughter “climbed a balcony, accidentally tripped, and fell”
as if your pale, careful body could do anything by chance
as if you had not planned your majestic funeral dance
we’ve visited the shallows and wild ripples kept us whole
when the fairies took your hands that night I think I lost my soul