We Are Not Now
Starry square seizes midnight thoughts.
I am not now, nor have I ever been
her last shore. Unsheltered
from winds and waves—eroded, tired
I walk barefoot on shards of broken
sunsets—one lost moment at a time.
Cold coal-black window with stars,
I can hear the murmur of sea shells
from distant islands—but it's not enough,
their lapping won't grow louder.
Matryoshka doll with all those versions of
her in her. White-chalk promises
written on lips—red bricks walls—
untouched by the brevity of candles that
burned at both ends. An urge long lost.
She's not now, nor has she ever been
I force myself not to look back, to
forget. But I see the moon
—I think it's her— and
this night's no longer true.
Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2016