I still write to you at times.
I try to make sense
of all your corners, all your years
tucked underneath loss and loss,
you live by losing. And there is a lesson
            in this.
Maybe it is time to let go
of all the cities like secrets you hold in your belly.
I should have been more
enough to look for you
in poems and the park’s trees.
You, an uncalibrated gun
and I the bullet. There is a lesson
            in this.
I recognise you on the basketball courts,
in places of worship, in our community centre,
in heartbreak, in sacrament,
I see you when I am listening
to songs too important to sing… There is still a lesson
            in this.
Of all the universes,
there is just one.
In it, you are first love, first lesson,
on the last page.
I write your name again
and again.