by July 30, 2008 0 comments

You don’t know
love; anymore
you walk around
what is important,
fail to recognize—
lovely, you look,
lovely I admit out loud,
but refuse to kiss you
when you wear
brown, ready
for the garden,
weeds, while I
tie my shoes,
my hat on,
prepare to leave
for the cemetery,
for the girl
who plays flute
no more—
green, they keep
the grass green,
the stones turn brown
under the wet fall
resembling rain;
I gave up asking
why—it is important
to love her
though she moved
beyond recognition—
I return
empty of tears
to the beauty
of your hands
in the brown earth;
dapples your face—
I kiss you,
because it’s important,
because you let me leave
for the place
you refuse to go.

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