I suppose I could say that it wasn’t my fault 

that the small winged bones between my fingers just got lost 

somewhere between the granite in your eyes and the caverns between your words 

between mica and quartz 

and sun rays melting the glare of tiles outside the court house where we got married

or between the grey keys you threw 
unlocking white between my shoulder blades

Perhaps I lost the nest 
between sunlight and knives pulled out of pockets I didn’t even know existed

or between the gaps in your lower teeth  and the words squeezed out of your mouth

“I could kill you out here and no one would ever know”

If I could gather a constellation of black starred eggs in the palm of my hand and not get burned 

maybe I could figure out where the spaces went 

find the raven feathers covered in snow