Wednesday, May 15, 2013


Opening night

Into the size and shape of answers that
I’ll never have
I plunge

I ask the question and live in the realm
Of wondering

Where is she
Who the world tosses up on shore
and harshly polishes with all the
moments come and gone
an entire night that lasted only seconds
gulfs waded through
cliffs over the side of which she may have
stupidly looked down
catching herself
When roughly chipped or thrown and landed
Then, all of the sandpaper words

And the mail still comes
Or maybe doesn’t
She waits

But I will always wait

It goes in waves, first a shell,
broken through raw and soft,
Then perhaps a scab forms
Always battered, with fractures
though never quite cracked through
love and hate and such sadness
surge ever closer to the surface

Tonight I bring it all to you

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