Falling up.

This is what’s written on my new sky-blue no-sleeve
the one with clouds on

what I’m wearing is an exact reflection
of what I (think I) am
and words type themselves
across my chest,
burn it on the left side,
and leave handmarks

your hands
were sent to me by email
open wide and blank
like the pages I would have written on your back
if you had stayed across me in the mornings,
pages inked with this purple pen
that left a bruise-colored stain
on the other side of my heart

when I left you leaving me I
now I am
falling up,
rising in a sunny vest
over the clearest double rainbow
a 50-year-old had ever seen

but how can things be
so clear?
white on white
ink on ink
that is
the clearest of things