It is 1826, and last time I heard from him was 7 years ago.
“I will be back, mother” he promised in his military attire.
The worst part about a broken promise is voiding a word of its meaning.
The rifle that killed my son murdered the word ‘back’;
I do not trust the milkman when he says he will be back with my change.
I do not trust the government when it says it has a back-up plan.
I do not trust my husband when he says he has my back.
It is 1826, and last time I felt good looking in the mirror was 25 years ago.
“You look beautiful”, my husband said but he wasn’t looking at me.
I saw his eyes escaping mine and drifting to the unknown lands of easy days .
a walk back home with shoes that fit,
a dinner table with bread that isn’t stale,
a bed with soft sheepskin that doesn’t scratch the wounds opened from the death of a loved one.

1.
I saw you again today
your hair's grown out

I wonder how you're doing
although I'm the one who never asks

I don't know how we connect
But I always know where you are

And with that
I run away

2.
You sat beside today
And I tried to hide my smile

Although I know there was pain
You tried to hide in your eyes

We finally talked today
after months of silence

And despite the distance between us
It was as though it was never there

3.
I left early again
And you hid behind round glasses

We pretended not to see each other
despite the fact...

That all I wanted to do
was look at you and smile

Was Monday when some somebody said
someone else had some trouble
               sticking out their neck.
You had a thing to get off of your chest
sent home walking alone, just as I suspected.

Had ears full of the tallest tales.
Sails deflated, drunk and jaded
               spitting coffin nails.
From my seat on this dusty city bus
I can see a whole kingdom made of ash and rust.

               ...everything the ******* touches...

Was Springtime when some somebody claimed
that they loved a certain someone--
               "didn't wanna leave."
4 months later, you were taking your leave.
"We'll stay friends on social media--
                         I didn't delete you."

My gut's full of tales like this one.
Drunk and fading, still just wading
               through the deepest ones.
Take my seat on this city bus,
Let this heart burn out and smolder down to ash and dust.

               ...All the things your friendship touches...

***** basements, then sidewalks under stars.
Zip these footfalls up to closure
     Closing down the bars.
Outta lies? You're outta time.
               And, so far,
that's all you gave and I'm the fish
               who swallows that hard hook.

In the end, I guess that we'll be fine.
finding distance, finding form among the solid lines.
End-of-day, the only way out is time.
               Guess you've got yours.
                    And I've got mine.

You've got yours.
And I've got mine.

As the war has taken
Our king from the throne
As I, the light, am burdened
To hold my father's corpse
The soft voice of the wind
Caresses the rotten flesh
Of those whose light
Burned brighter than the sun

As the sun sleeps
The moon calls forth
The dances of the night

As the sun awakens
Be it the darkness
Be it the daylight

These ruins are my home
Who guide my light to the world

As the wind drags along
The ashes of the light
As everything was taken
And murdered after the fight
The voice of the wind
Is harsh, loud and cold
The remains of them
Whose name hold a reminiscence

As the sun sleeps
The moon calls forth
The rituals of the night

As the sun awakens
Be it the darkness
Be it the daylight

The light moves forward
And guide me back home