Counting Backwards

I held the light of one tiny moon,

between my two fingers, on my left hand

and with my right, I drew in blue crayon

a river on the wall.

We laughed about the intricacies 

of debate, the largest basket

the smallest hands.

And while we arrested ourselves,

locked in rooms lined with cedar

to better preserve us

I thought eventually the moths

would make their way in

and eat us alive. 

Our hopes were small,

only taking up enough space

to exist quietly.  

We whispered of love and fortune,

and redwood trees

while we sipped our coffee

under the falling leaves.