Crutches

I feel like I forget what comes first
and which way is blue,
what time is touch,
where are the getting-lost woods?
I feel small in my heavy chair,
wondering about you,
how to make bridges of petals,
and if you miss my voice at all.
I feel yesterday is bigger
but these feet haven’t gone far enough,
sun is not overrated though it’s cocky,
and evenings are too sad alone, like now.