I saw the tracks in the snow
and on your skin to show where you’d been,
but I just bound your broken hands in gauze
and didn’t ask anything I didn’t  need
to know, even if it’s hard not to wonder
why you have to come and go like the waves
with my heart shoved in your pocket.

And in the end, aren’t we all just
tides and bones?

I taped up the window you
broke last night, and I know you
don’t remember, but you carried me
over the shattered glass and to bed
where we became for a little while
more than what we’ve become,
and you didn’t once close your eyes.

“I love you,” you murmured into my skin,
but I know you were sleeping.

You’ll be gone before I wake again,
kind enough to leave me dreaming
in your warmth while the snow
falls outside the glass to hide where you go.

Because in the end we’re only tides —
tides and bones.