When signatures are scrawled
on every page marking
every year… every death
and every dollar
When checks are cut
and we amicably shake hands
our eyes glimpse
the waves under each other’s souls
Here’s a page we didn’t write into the script…
the mark of
… End …
We sit mad
with fear in the hopes
we did the right thing
although we were doing the right thing
yet it wasn’t quite right
not exact
but what is exact and perfect and so
magnificent that we couldn’t get to?
Nothing
will ever compare to your solid
and strong body
holding me in the dead of night while I cried
of a fear
that I only now
understand as regret
back then
those nights wasted
thinking it will always be