My last message may not be, “I love you”
It may not be the apology you need
There may not even be a last message.

I have thought about my last words
More than I have ever spoken any –
I may even leave you with what you have
Already seen or heard another day.

Maybe you do not even deserve my last word
Maybe I made a monument of you with smoke and hot air,
Laying you down on grimy mirrors.

You may even be a lily waiting to float
Like my flightless words on my concentrated tongue.

I like to imagine spending monsoons in a house made of salt
Crumbling marriages and a
Loaf of banana bread, raw in the middle.

My last message may be, “Where are you? Waiting.”
You will not see this message
You are a damsel trapped in the creases of your coat
As you drive to where you think I am, where you think
I want you to be –
Not where you are needed.

“Hold still, I’m on my way.”