Dear Alfred,
I feel where I am
my heart could carry me
over the bridge
and censor what happened to it
in this dystopian future
that cannot exist.
How will the valves,
aortas or chambers even work?
Flattened out and aborted–
donated to a better cause?
Good bye, Alfred Nobel.
We loved you
Did I ever tell you
how you changed the world?
Do you feel that deep reach?

I sit beneath tree limbs
stare at the sky and pretend
that I know things about science. When the rain returns
I run through it disrobed
and stand forever
as it washes my ears clean
of the secrets
that never loved enough
cried enough or laughed hard enough
That I let show me sadness
pouring the tears of old dreams
out into the sea.
Salt swallowing salt.
Breath swallowing breath
Water swallowing water
Dear Alfred,
Did you know the world hasn’t changed
since you ran over it,
became a part of it,
since your soul leaked into the mines
leaked into veins of gold,
since your soul saw the sun,
since everyone vied to win
the coveted prize in your name?
When we write together,
your breath is in the room.
She brings in pictures from the past
and we root ourselves in definitions.

Dear Alfred,
Do you know the names
of all that live and die beneath yours?
My heart becomes a balloon
and explodes in the stars,
the magic in one
Wednesday night
weighs more than whales
floating cities,
your gold–
and the moon.