And it was the picture I did not take of the girl at the tea shop that I search for a place to hang on my wall.
That you knew but said nothing.
I will count the times I did not touch your face. The little restaurants we didn't visit in the afternoons. The necklace I meant to place inside a tiny drawer for you to find.
The nouns you would not call me. The verbs of course un-acted.
The window we never found a moment to sit at and watch the rain, which never fell so long as I knew you. Those Texas thunderstorms I recalled but which kept their distance from that room I less than inhabited.
The flower I could not find the moment to place in your hair.
These will all fill the spaces of my new walls, and I will carry them into the town and set them in little paper boats to be carried away past the folks wading in the creek. And I will carve them onto the sides of mountains with a long finger, the one you nearly kissed, but eventually refrained.
You are full of wonderful thoughts you never had, and overflowing with words not spoken.
There is even less air here. Where I am. Perhaps not merely the altitude.
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