The more I see beyond
the reckoning words
and their sweet ache,
I realize you won,
you always did-
I gave,
you hid.

And this boyish want
has walked its way
away from you.
Despite my stop and
turning look
I was leaving by weighted line
and flying hook.

And my turning to your
wished for face
has piled the wanting
piled the weight
like stones not counted
but hurtful thrown
at this sorry target
this sorry bone.

words  T Carroll