fork

a dangerous wanting
a haunting splitpath 
with one route golden
but only that 
the other softset 
green briars for miles 
my uncle packed me
a boston kreme 
on a pocket map
but he died 
so I pulled the sun 
through dad’s
massive glasses
fried out the middle
and singed buds
off my tongue since 
everything is leaving 
like smoke tailing   
new moon when
the meaning of love 
is that it’s 
gone too soon