I don’t want it all back

   just that one morning 

      when I put my phone on the bumper

    and you wore that orange shirt dress

       and shook your head 

     at the idea that everything was going to 

                        work out

          that the angle was right 

     not to cut off our heads

          not to slip off the bumper 

       when the ten second timer hit

     not to have a hundred shots of sky

       on nights like this

         in the middle of the moon

      when the phone has six thousand pics

    and only one 

 of big hair   an ebony hue  an orange blur

       and endless

            endless 

                blue sky

        .