Don't fall in love with a man not yet a boy
who will tell you seven months after the breakup
that he doesn't get poetry.
Repurpose the words you gave him
like dry lumber leftover from the addition to the garage
and set them ablaze.
All the memories he gave you sit on the backs
of sunsets because they're only bright when the lights are out.
Don't mistake the dwindling flame
for a star.
If anyone asked, you told them
it was he who arranged the constellations
but it was you who plucked the northern lights
and put them in his irises.
It was you who danced in the crescent of the moon
and who will dance again.