You know where to find me,
out here playing harmonica
in the echo of the stone
pavilion. Your multi-colored
eyes shifting with the notes
you taught me while we waited
by the train tracks.
I remember when I cut my hand
trying to pry that lock off the rail car.
You ripped some fabric from your skirt
to wrap it and held my palm
to help me keep the pressure on.
I never had been happier to bleed.
Now we argue in a diner
about where to go from here,
and I am cruel to you
because I want to play it safe.
In our separate ways
I spend the days regretting
every word I said
the sky is dead and on the ground
I am aimless now just shuffling my feet.
You hear my music faintly
from under the bridge where
you are reading from the light
of passing cars, and I hear
you in it too. Your footsteps
stop me and I cannot finish
the song that I began
when I thought you
were far away.
Here you are and here am I
caught up in a landscape
where the only thing that saves
me is that happy look you gave me
when I ran across the stone
of a memorial, for something else,
but now for us.

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