simple stories honored
or lost in the retelling.
i am too tired to move forth
in defense. so they are hurt.
i cannot heal them.
history so far from truth,
it's history, no longer.

there are hinges that open
to swing both ways,
letting in what is leaving
at the same time.

my memory opens in the wind,
dances silent as a ribbon
within its own colorstream.
it folds, to keep itself
in place and safe,
end to end.

a map, i can bend
to place your distance
in a curve so our
geographies touch.

neither sky nor road's fully
emptied. ever. a long expanse
of absence still, dense
with thought and ancient
questions no one's asked yet.
pulled into place by
a headlights warped light.
i have lost you.

absence shared.
unlikely intimacy.
sometimes it's my needs,
what i lack,
hunger, that
holds me
together.