Heart seeds

Sam Moe

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if I had known you would leave me for honeysuckle-
red bees, focaccia foam, the shocking clouded Sulphur
old gems, a heart full of pear seeds, a bag full of Sundays,

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I would have asked for two hugs, I would have saved
my sobbing for when you turned your back. I knew it 
would hurt to cry into the live-lime-greens,

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wheat, auburn fields, trills of birds sing a sorry for me. I
get lost on the walk home, you never accompanied me, 
there is a stray cat, a bunny, a TV discarded, half-shattered

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I am afraid to be alone, I am always alone. I wait for night,
for lilac skies before summer storms and you take my words
from your halls. might you still think of me when you eat
blueberries? 

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when you dip your scones into a coffee mug shaped like
someone else’s heart, I could rest right there, below the handle,
a crumb of a person—not even a ghost—an easy love, for you

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wouldn’t see me most of the time. Baby, do you still make
promises, might you hate my foxes, could you write a sonnet
before bed, do you still say love you, do you know my name,

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do you want to say a proper farewell? I could tell the owl to find
you, she might swap my letter for a worm, I think you’d still
know it was me, helpless, with excellent taste,

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you might give me apple cores; you might tell the owl to take 
it easy, and maybe where I’m going, I won’t need my heart;

 

yes,
I would like that.