you spent an hour alone in the pouring rain
fifty degrees and dropping
waiting, waiting
blocking out the chaos
with those borrowed grey earbuds that bruise your ears

maybe you wanted someone to see you
and ask why

or maybe you just wanted pneumonia

you always told me I was patient
so patient I will be
I'll wake up in the morning
and I'll go about my day
and I'll stop by to see you on the way home
even though you're never there
but you always told me I was patient
so patient I will be
I'll sit here on this mound of dirt
for an hour every evening
and I'll wait for you to come home
I'll wait for your voice to dance across the stones around me
like it used to
if I listen hard enough
sometimes I can hear it
but as soon as I turn, it's gone
so I'll stare at your name
engraved on this slab of granite
till the sun goes down
and maybe a little longer after that
just waiting for you to come home

this love that we share
transcends
any stuttering ****** *****

peel away the strands of grass
from the mother blade
one at a time
one slender green piece pulled from the rest
as the leaf becomes smaller,
smaller
a thing of beauty
nature's most abundant
reduced to pale shreds
and loose strings
dangling in the air
curling, reaching for something
what I can only guess to be
their lost companions
so close but yet so far
as the wind stirrs
and the remnants of life
dance away
into this sweet summer's eve

dear goldfish -
if I'd been you
I'd have jumped, too.

I believe I've become a bit disenchanted with my life.

this time's different
'cause now I'm worried about me, too.