Movies
A hero turns conspiratorially,
staring into my future.
What he said into the camera then,
is meaningless now,
but I see his lips move,
as if he were predicting this moment.
A heroine hikes her skirt over her thighs,
blood fills the flesh of memory.
I remember I love her, but it is too late,
she is dead, and she did not die young.
Often, I wonder,
about the never was and the could be.
Has this been a badly spliced life?
One day we may all get to watch
our full movie.
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