for weeks and months after
john passed from this world
i told anyone who would listen
that my words ran away when he did

but that wasn't really true,
was it?

wandering back through my poetry
from beginning to end
i notice that inspired
tends always
to come from conversation

my poems all have faces
and voices
and i had closed those gates
long before john flew away

the one i loved
felt that inspiration shared
was a betrayal

he didn't want to share
my passion

and even after
he went away
i kept those gates closed

it is time to see
if i can still fly