Every time I go back I take a sprig of lavender.
Tuck it into the folds of encircled heartbeats,
sun-dry and spoon it into bags with stray eyelashes.
Wrap around people-colored dreams and
rub the buds against the walls to mask the smell of white.
Every time I went back, I took a sprig of the lavender
that god in heaven below was regurgitating
by the time I decided to leave.