Egret

inside the word there is here
where everything that is red is on fire, even the dirt

sugared with sand. even when bracketed

by sweetness, I am an absence
somewhere else. I know loneliness

is not a number, but the moon is a hole

in the sky so perfectly round it breaks
its own heart, and the only reason

I didn’t throw my phone into a river

was because there were no rivers.
much like the moon, I am the space

I leave, the o in love.

much like love, I require a preposition
to be near to you.

inside the word you is the letter u. how redundant.

inside the word regret is a white bird standing
in its own reflection.