Do that thing again.
You cry while I hold you,
like the little baby I am.
Don’t look now,
but
wow,
I’ve never fucked up
so completely.
Oh wait,
yes I have.
The bench spoke to me.
I waited so long:
the daily walks,
the nervous glances,
- hoping.
I made excuses,
now thinking about it,
to walk by.
Deluding myself to believe.
No,
I do like walking.I do like that bench.Around and around
that gnarly,
blood-footed path.
And then
sat,
“please leave“ it requested.
An underwhelming introduction,
but
chills and flutters
still.
I walk on.
Where the wandering willows weep;
for far they’ve come, no home,
my foggy mind leaps
to the end of the galaxy known.
Who should I meet
but the galaxy always alone.
Once my travels cease,
back to the shady grass.
The tears the willows weep
have turned all to laughs,
to water at their feet,
a home they have at last.
Unlike earth beneath the trees,
my roots do not dig so.
They open their hairy arms
to much I do not know.
Like water beneath the trees
absorb all I need to grow.
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