The long dark road winds behind us now. Blacks, purples, greys and haze--

colors borne in the tragic pain of lives split open again, and again.

Remembering you, I weep for lostness and loneliness, for lifelines tossed haphazardly;

You, in twisted throes of torment, and me, drowning in the sea.

Remembering you, I laugh. Dolls hidden under the bed, held hostage and stripped,

smooth plastic breasts exposed, and GI Joes with severed toes. 

Shared times of fleeting joy--running through nettles, building forts in roots and branches—

a mere flash. Our childhood home remained your safe place, my empty place.

 

Now, rummaging in the hollow silence, I find my guitar, never returned;

The belt-buckle I gave you, hip and cool—pieces of me,

insufficient and deficient, invisibly small. How I wish I’d given all.

A collection of shells, petrified wood, things of the earth—a common bond.

Remnants of a life left abruptly. Sealed letters in a box, a penned soliloquy to no one.

 

In a corner of my garden sits your handmade mesquite chair,

your imaginary presence resting there. We sit and talk of good times as children,

coloring together in rainbow hues, me inside, and you outside the lines.