| I often wonder if I'll ever hear from you again or if the memory of us is all I have to talk to to play with down by the ocean's end in the sand and on the breakwater rocks the night that you left me and told me all the things I never heard before (except a few times in the past from kind gentlemen with surprises up their sleeves) left me alone on the other end and no matter what I try to cover with my tears you saw through it without mercy and the sound won't ever leave my head and I am trapped behind this keyboard pounding out jars that hold the preservations of my past waiting for a dry spell that most poets fear and I only hope for amid vanity's persistence Return to selections from i through x |