Saturday Dec 14 2013 - Flatsound

It’s been exactly one year since I wrote that first poem about you

I sat in bed and started thinking about what happened at Sandy Hook

And how fragile life is

And how much I wanted you in mine

When you read it you said you teared up

And couldn’t believe whatever this was we found in each other

You called it indescribable

I lied in the same spot a year later with you beside me

Emotionless

Thinking about how I watched you change with every season

How spring turned into summer turned into autumn turned into winter

How the purity of something new became as hot as the persistent day as it rests

too heavily on tired flowers

And how when that tiredness wins

They die like everything else

I could feel my chest collapsing that night I sat in the stairway and read

every word you had written to someone else while you were gone

How you teared up when you read the words he wrote to you

How you couldn’t believe what you found

You even called it indescribable

Now I can’t stop thinking about what those words might have been and how they

compare to mine

I can’t sleep because I need to know what you found and if it feels anything

like what I lost

I’m sorry if I’m so stuck in this

It’s just before you came along I spent four years with someone who would watch

me watch the world but couldn’t hold my hand and see what I saw

Someone who loved me so much but couldn’t understand how a human soul could

mimic the seasons

Or how a person can be fine for so long but wake up one morning wanting to die

all over again

So when that feeling rises over the mountains all I ask of the world is that

they greet it differently than pagans when they worship the sun

I am old soil mixed with the compulsion to describe what used to grow here

To describe the indescribable sensation of life in a dying field

As if remembering the smell of your blossoms is the only thing keeping me alive