It was love that I caught her digging in the dirt for,
pulling up bird bones and old secrets instead,
her fingers brushing them clean.
At night, we would sit by the fire cracking walnuts
and trying to decipher why hearts were so fickle
when the rest of our bodies were still addicted
to the things they once had loved.
At dusk, I would find her seeking Venus,
whispering to herself the way back.
― sometimes we bury our sorrows and sometimes they bury us (© nico snyder)