on a day like this

it is impossible
not to remember

outside, in the night air,
memories blink like fireflies . . .
lies swirl with the truth:
did you really mean it?
then how could you . . . ?

i cannot ask the questions to which
i do not want to know the answers.
this level of bravery is not yet reached.
maybe cowardice is gentleness.
(i can only take so much.)

i am on the road, you have fallen behind,
or maybe it is me left for dead. dis-
oriented, deserted, desperate. only
not so wild-eyed now, the monster is gone,
the light is coming. my voice is a whisper,
a question, a prayer,
a song.

{ she }

photo from
h e r e