In a Slow Drift
I won’t let you slip into the fog off the shoreline,
so that when I call out to you, you don’t even hear your name.
The truth is… it’s too sad to admit..that we have changed,
both of us and now, how easily all our wildly woven history,
loosens and drifts in tattered life boats, carrying nothing to save.
I protest and shake my fists to the sky, I won’t surrender, not this one
not this gift!…and how cruel to give it, tell me it’s mine, only to take it away!
Like this, in a slow drift that if we don’t pay attention, we might not perceive,
in small increments of invisibility, we find less to love about each other.
Where’s our laughter, our blood, our dreams, and what are we without them?
Four bells, the haze has muddled our horizons, as we sit in silence, dazed.
Not a story left to tell, not a plan, not a memory, not even a kiss, really…really?
I don’t accept it ends like this..words choking in our throats, our hearts winding down,
across a dinner table, catatonic, barely whispering, every sentence ending in the middle
It’s not befitting to the memory of our slow dance of love, to end in a slow drift away.
January 15, 2019