On that day,

you dried the winds exteme

and brought rains later

a chain of thunderheads

I attached to,

like a train of dreams

I wanted to drop out.

 

You’ve returned my letters

with a laugh,

even the lined ones

where I poured heart wine

in tall slender glasses

waiting for you to drink-

you didn’t.

 

I wanted to tell you

you were loved

so you could stop chasing

that last train, that last music

streaming out of your soul

like a stuck record-

isn’t the same song boring?

 

 

Instead,  I watched you glower

everytime we past that church,

the moon reflecting in your face-

never full, always a thin line of 

space occupied by pain.

 

Dave Barber

30 Nov 2008

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