Aftershock

The bed is half full

and the bed is half empty

the sheets hold the shape

of the crater you made

as the weight of your chest

pushed and pulled

full and empty of the air

you stole and gave back to me

when the dark wakes the owls

let them wrap their talons

around the twigs outside the window sill

let the feathered soldiers whisper my secrets

my toes never slip

past the invisible fault line

that splits hemispheres

between the sheets.