I think I lost us.
I think I emptied my pockets
for you and in turn,
all you gave me were
heavy stones to line them with.

I think oceans filled between us,
I think I sailed away while you
stood on the shore,
collecting stones and
staring at the horizon
instead.

I think I got tired of asking
for what ought to be offered;
you got tired of being asked
for things you couldn't
ever give.

I think I finally understand what
they mean when they say
people grow
in different directions,
because you remain along the dirt
as brush
and I've grown far up these bricks.