Meet Me in the Woods

box of matches.

i had always wanted
to strike a match and
burn your love letters;
to watch the words
of your false worship
be consumed and turn to ash.

but you never wrote me any.

i struck a match
and lit a smoky
un scented candle
next to my jar of feathers
my dried flowers
and a birds nest i'd found
tangled in the grape vines.
i sat at that table
stumbling on my words;
i asked the gods
for their names.

i haven't uttered yours since.