I remember that evening
when you were love-drunk,
freely swinging in the park.
Giddy with some fantasy
or maybe you knew
with whom you were involved.
We stayed awake all night,
just two kids with nothing going on.

I remember us sneaking out.
It was much easier for me.
My dad just didn't care.
I could come and go as I pleased.
You had to do the sneaking
through your window
when the lights went out.
There was a trailer
at the bottom of your property,
our little shelter from the world.

I remember eddies of cigar smoke
whirling in the mouth of an open cave.
We sat together at the entrance.
There was an easy tranquility
with a slightly skewed view.
You wished that we could stay forever,
but I was more concerned
with heading out anew.

You saw me change in many ways
and I wonder what that did to you.

"You know, this skirt used to be white."
She said, standing over the garden.
Her hands nervously straightened
the folds and creases and pleats.
The skirt was a little too long,
and trailed tattered in the dirt.
Her back was towards me
as she studied the coming evening.
"Then something red got mixed with the wash.
But I like it this way.
The way each fabric has a different shade of red."
There were maroons and pinks and purples,
layered as can only happen by chance.
I approached from behind, for the embrace,
and her hands rested on my hands
circumscribing her waist.
Not much was said.
Nothing needed to be said.

I went back inside to do the dishes
she sort of ambled close behind.
I don't know how the conversation started.
But there was a distant fogginess in her eye.
"It's just that I'm afraid of starting over.
I had made such great friends
and now we've all gone and scattered once again."
Her voice cracked and she blushed.
She excused herself, and slid into the bathroom.

Ah, but love, I've done the same as you.
When I left my home to chase after school.
Again, when I left school to wander down the road.
Again, when that road led me back to school.
Again, when I left town to chase a worldly life.
Every time I left dear friends, and lovers,
to chase some wild, cursory whim.

I was in my bedroom, cleaning up for the night.
I felt her presence approaching.
"******, I just need you to hold me."
So I took her in my arms, and waited patiently.
Then she cried, and it was fine.
Nothing's wrong with weeping free.
We slept in each others arms that night
which was a strange occurrence for me.
Usually I'm wide awake with the rhythms
of breath and heart cycling beside.
She spoke in her sleep,
words which she didn't understand the next day.
They were simply one iteration of a single phrase:
"Thank you."

That's the closest she came to saying "good-bye."

I'm just a Libra love swinging high on indecision
in the throes of inebriation, permeated with all sorts of
feelings filling falling fascinations in the moment.
Fleeting while failing to carry on and then become it.

Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning.
The ancient sandcastles
speckling the shore have crumbled,
grain by grain, desiccated from
seasons in the sun.
I've walked impacted corridors
with shells as cobblestones.
I know the tide has receded
lower ever than before.
Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning.
'Though the coral architecture
is weathered, bleached and barren.
The thrones sit vacant
hissing sighs like salty grit.
I've left the ghostly kingdoms
for the waterside, to sit.
Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning.
First a toe, then ankle's depth.
Then hands and hips and shoulders.
Before my eyes drop below the line
I see the sun's farewell.
Somewhere between the rising and falling,
my perspective lost its bearing
but the sun is softly sitting, shining out to me
as a beacon to the joining of two infinities.
Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning
in this darkened atmosphere
with filtered, softened rays above.
While there may be monsters somewhere,
they don't seem to bother me.
In this place I move around, almost invisibly.
Sometimes I hear a friendly song,
or see an outline pass nearby.
While I'm alone, it's never lonely
because this ocean is alive.
Don't grieve for me, love.
I'm not drowning.
I'm not even lost adrift.

Three up-turned cups
pouring  from the heavens.
The maidens bicker endlessly
up-heaved in mediocre tendencies.
They lap at the droplets
evaporating slowly from the floor
towards hexagonal prisms once more.

A haggard crone from the side
while heaving a sigh
split the silence with a deafening roar.
With her eyes open wide
she called to the tide,
the pounding fury amassed at the door.

A new-found sound
erupted from the ground
spurned by the demands of the space.
Patterns of speech crowned
as they echoed around
waking the knight who was resting in place.

He unsheathed his sword
and he grasped at the words
that flung tattered through empty heads and ears.
Their guidance ignored,
stunned tired and bored,
in unrestrained bounds they fled until no one was near.

The knight escaped after
driven by incessant chatter.
He vowed that he'd return with the proper words to say.
Chased until foreverafter
beyond scoffing and laughter:
"Be wary of the number of players cast in your play."

Don't think of me, babe.
Be righteous and free, babe.
Swim madly in love or in doubt.
I won't be around.
Never making a sound.
Not here, neither inside nor out.
If the past haunts you,
with sorrow it daunts you,
gather your soul as a scream or a shout.
In that new twilight,
the gleaming new sky light,
you'll understand what it's all about.

Outside of town
with insect rhythms playing
the moon hides dark
giving the stars the stage.
They dash across the night
leaving fire in their wake.
The dipper rests above
a perfect outline of the trees.
Step up to form seven stars,
the seven precious gems
that never deplete.
Yet in the serenity
a single thought becomes.
If only I could share with you
everything that I have seen.