Next to me are people clad in black,
lost in a reverie that you gave us.
There are strong women doubled over,
and men who can't hide their drowned eyes with a stern face.
They've all known you and have
shared memories that I'll never know.
But one thing I do know,

I met a man once
in a field of chaos.
And he taught me about happiness.

Said the king to the colonel,
'The complaints are eternal,
That you Irish give more trouble
Than any other corps.'

Said the colonel to the king,
'This complaint is no new thing,
For your foemen, sire,
have made it A hundred times before.'

You spoke in whispers that night under the stars.
I can't remember what you said,
I just feel your head gently colliding with mine,
hear your laugh as you retreated back, apologizing.
I smell the detergent left in your thin clothes.
I recall your arms wrapped around my waist,
the tingling in my throat as I looked up into your dark features,
your green eyes focused on my lips, but never touching them.

I sense the burning in my torn knee from where my flesh hit the ground earlier that night,
and the sound of my sweet breath against the open wound to reduce the pain.
And again, your laugh, as you gloated over my klutzy behavior.

You didn't say anything significant.
No I love yous, no I can't live without yous, certainly no
you mean the world to mes.
So my ears only heard the summer crickets hiding in the bushes,
and again,
your warm laugh,
with my hands against your stomach
to  feel the hysteria run through your body,
ending its journey as it greeted the air.

That was enough for me.
I didn't need promising cliches to feel content.
Your hand wrapped in mine was enough,
enough for a few lonely evenings
to look back on the memory,
and still feel you with me.

But I still can't recall a word you said,
that night,
as you spoke whispers under the stars.

“Palm trees do exist”
And like that I’m speechless
Because palm trees are the definition of serenity
And she can’t find that serendipity
because in Idaho we have pine trees
And fathers who are like attics
Attics have ladders to climb so you can reach their expectations
And sometimes his are too high
If I had an attic I would cut every rung to its ladder and build my own
Because I know where I’m going
It might not be as high as you’d like
But let me assure you I’m headed toward palm trees

I want to be painted onto the canvas of your future
and carved into the floorboards of your past
my love for you is deeper than the Atlantic
and I am the tide
constantly returning to your shore line
no matter how many times I'm turned away.
I once asked my mother
what the most tragic love story was
and she said it was the story of the moon and the sun
Cursed to live apart for eternity
only meeting briefly
at dusk
but with that
comes the beauty of the sunset
and these bruises
they are proof that the color spectrum
Does not hold enough reds and blues
to paint my endless sea of love
On to the canvas of your future

You make me queasy
a constant sea sickness
but I'm not ill
People tend to call this "butterflies"
Im just digusted
there are insects hiding in the most secret parts of me

Your handshake
is about as firm as a thousand year old bridge
and thats when I realized
you were crumbling