Saturday, March 21, 2009

untitled two

On the way to the airport the lightening sky seeps into the spaces between our seats
and we move quietly forward except for the radio blaring into early morning sleepiness.
When we say goodbye, I realize that I may not see you for a long time
but strangely it doesn't bother me.
Maybe I am just too tired to register the weight of it,
or maybe my instinct on the way here was right:
we have little to offer each other these days
and are only held together by nostalgia and sheer force of will.
I hope I'm wrong.

Out the airplane window the mountains shrink along with my ability to let go.
Once again you have taught me an important lesson,
one that, this time, I won't forget.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

march 5th

At some point, I think I knew that we could never return,
not after all this time.
So much ink spent putting you in words,
everything but your name,
should have been a sign that you would never let me back.
Once, I felt you like a thunderstorm
but now your presence has faded to the lightest of greys
like an almost dry sidewalk after rain.
Sometimes I worry that one day I will look for you and you will be gone,
though that has already happened.

On the first birthday I knew you we went to the movies,
and I sat next to you in the dark wondering what would become of us.
Afterwards we watched the ducks swimming in the pond
and walked home slowly in the dusk. I felt bad because
I hadn't gotten you anything, so I reached for your hand as we talked.

Mostly I'm grateful that no record of our conversations
from after I left remains. I think - no, I know -
I would be ashamed of myself to read it.
As it is I am ashamed enough to remember, and to know that you remember too.
I hear myself speaking now with the patience, the frankness,
I should have given you to begin with,
and I know that my chance to show you that is gone.
Maybe this is my backwards way of giving you what you should have had all along.

Tuesday, March 3, 2009


i wonder if you miss me at all, if you feel the lack of me.
if you wish sometimes that i was there.
do you think of me at night
before you sleep, missing my body beside you?
do you think of me in the morning when the sunlight creeps
into your room and you cannot touch me when you reach?
do you wish i were there when you make a joke you know i would laugh at
and others are silent?
with you it is always a mask; to me you show nothing.
you slip sometimes and i glimpse
who you are and could be, but then you realize.
every time, you catch yourself instead of letting me.