In silence
I've wept
but I shouldn't blame
I'd learned to accept

We make up our stories
Our logic and rationalizations
For what happened
That shouldn't have
And
For what didn't happen
That should have

We say
God is benevelont
The universe is your friend
Don't worry
All is well and always has been

Yes, these are good stories
And maybe they are true

But what can i tell my tears?
The arise from a deep well
within
my heart
The well of tears

They cry as they wait
For the moment and day
When this friendly universe
Makes up its own mind
To bless my clouded eyes
with the vision
of Thine Feet

Blue Feet, Bamboo flute
My life, my love
My refuge eternal

I gave you all my love
I gave you all of me
And it still wasn't enough

But I,
I am enough
And you,
Will never convince me otherwise

"But what if we're wrong?"
It was silent
But her thoughts echoed around in my head as we laid on top of her pickup truck
I swatted at the eighteenth mosquito chewing on my leg
I don't want this to be love

We were tangled up in the acoustic music they play on the radio on Sunday mornings
She was trying to dream up something clever to write about
And I was pretending I could learn to play guitar through osmosis,
As if blending myself in with the harmonies, finding her in every lyric, and sheer willpower would give me wings or at least magic guitar hands

She set the alarm, checked it over and over
She was not going to be late for her first day
I told her I'd be asleep when she got home, she told me she knew
I told her to wake me up

I wasn't looking for perfect
Perfect really only applies in first year physics courses
After that, we learn to fall in love with "rough around the edges" or "unique" or "unfinished"
As if their life is a puzzle that we need to complete
Just so you know, it isn't

She bought me breakfast and dropped me off
She used to tell me she loved me, but I know she didn't
She does now, so she doesn't have to say it anymore
When I said, "love," before, I didn't really mean it
Not like I mean loving the garden on the balcony of her apartment or thunderstorms in May
Even if I was a puzzle that she completed (and I'm not saying that I am), we didn't need any glue to fit perfectly

I can't remember
Every poem I've ever written
In my head.
Everything I see now is a poem.
It can be taken in
absorbed
And breathed out like carbon.
Thats how I see the world.
Through black and white
As read through a newspaper.
But I remember looking into glazed over eyes
With gold and grey and a blue background.
The only feature I like.
Anything I want can be reflected.
Or absorbed.
But I choose this moment to remember.
It isn't remarkable.
But it's memorable.
Not even.
It's just there.
To be absorbed.