Not That Far

 i've been spending

whole days in the grass.

falling can't hurt

when you're this close

to the earth, i guess.

But these hands

are restless.

They've been digging up

mud-soaked mason jars

and faded postcards;

memories of how

we could only ever

love each other

from a distance.

Why are you in everything?

How am i supposed to sleep

with a head of relics?