Whereforto Ye Wanderers

Whereforto Ye Wanderers.

Friday, August 14, 2009

We are defined

by things unsaid
and moments not-spent.

The time we had--
lying by each other,

not sleeping,
afternoon sun creeping

over and through
my windows--

could have been a figment
of my drug-and-time-addled

brain by now.
But I carry myself

to where you’ll be
in tribute to a connection

that lies un-tethered,
a kite string dragging

along the ground;
those few

precious hours when we laid
bare these feral notions

that there lies something
in the long expanse

of time and silence between us:
a place where we still sit

as boy and girl together,
and I watch you sketch

your lead cartoon-y portraits,
and you just watch me.

At least you gave me
my best poems,

my love.
Somewhere in the file cabinet

of joint memory our manila
envelope waits, packed with used

matches and splotched
by the different shades

of hair we’ve each outgrown.
The lip is creased, tearing,

still holds for now.
I tell my friends to cast

men away as dandelion seeds,
but you are the faint

wee fluffy-headed
angiosperm that stuck

to the stem and I
kept you, pressed you

into a book
and even still look

at you sometimes,
wondering at the well

of potential attached
to your soft white

guidance system,
wondering where or if

you would’ve taken root,
wondering if, in

the right season,
the right soil,

you’d still grow.

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