You’re sort of everything I could hope for
with a beard of decades and faded tattoos,
like you’ve seen too much sun and rode
a motorcycle too long.

I have this hearsay that says you were a
traveling man who traded your
friendship and your charisma.
(I know nothing firsthand.)

I was a girl once and thought you were
searching for something until I realized
no one ever actually said as much. Just that
you went from here to there and sometimes back.

I wish you could have been seldom rather
than absent. Or maybe rare but at least felt
the pull of my heart enough to pause.
I don’t remember the sound of your voice.