October 8th

The way you flew in
giving me books that describe
poetic endings.
Oh, Samarkand,
your love, your breadth,
the ages you spanned!
I’ll never love another book
the way I loved you.
As deep as the ocean
that swallowed your words

I turn over, kiss the back of
glossy green cover
and forget why I came.
Star-crossed poets, find the happiness from the closest
falling star.
Love lasts forever,
even when the meaning
fills the shed in another’s garden
and the pages of someone
else’s book.