You wrote me like a poem, a tracing
of water on a metal plate
a single blade of grass, subtly lacing
and weaving the breeze into a fete;
you wrote me like the plumes of dust devils
gently blur the horizons, spiked
lines that danced on the page, couldn’t keep still
and went off the edge as they liked;
you wiped me off too, like the savannahs
after rain, pockmarked with blossoms,
carry the sounds of slowly fading cars,
erase the gleam with clumsy thumbs.
You wrote me down and then you tore me up
flung me into the grass and into love.