but when you die i’ll press you
in between the pages of books
like dried flowers;
i’ll preserve you in amber
like an insect.
there are all these dead Romance languages
that contain your name;
there is no language in the world
that does not contain your name.
i’d walk into the center of a lake for you,
covered with ice
that i could fall through in a second.
and when you die i’ll keep your bones
displayed in a museum
like wolves,
like dinosaurs,
like unseen things.
