Checklist
   for A.L.

The collapsible lawn chairs,
one for you and one for me.

The hand-cranked phonograph
with the conical horn.

The sleeveless vinyl records
and the hatbox that holds them.

The scattering of blackbirds,
musical notes thrown to the sky.

The sun’s brass doorknob
rolling toward the horizon.

The great vanishing act
our shadows perform on the grass.

The stories we tell, their fossils
imprinted on the hours.

The near-death experiences
saved for the bruise of dusk.

The curbside dumpster I missed
going sixty on tipsy blood.

The knuckle of a tumor
that knocked behind your eye.

The lightning-scarred tree
leaning on Miracle Hill.

The frenzied mob of fireflies
sparklers make in our hands.