I’m sitting here
On a balcony
On the third floor.
It’s sunny,
The New England fall
Is just beginning here
And the field
In front of me
Is a green lake
Rippling in the breeze.

The sun is bright
But it’s not harsh
Like in the summer.
I’m reading some poems,
I’m thinking.
But mostly I’m thinking
of you.

All the stories I have for you,
None of them
Mean anything
To you.
They’re all names
places,
things,
events
That you’ve never heard of.

Can you
Feel me over here?
Can you hear me scream
When I awake
In the blackest depths
Of the night,
And cry out for a moment,
Hitting my head
Off the metal frame
Beneath the top bunk,
Before I realize that of course
You’re not next to me,
Because I live here now.

Sometimes I imagine
That I feel you,
That I take in your pain,
Along with the everyday
bits of magic
That fall around your life
Like shards of stained glass
Scattered across
A wooden and dusty floor
Of an empty cathedral,
Bathed in sunlight,
And crunching underneath
The feet of time
As our memories
Are pounded into
Oblivion.

Of course I wish it were different!
Yes I wish that I had you everyday,
The way I once did.
But that’s not
How it is
Anymore.