two books
cd player
backpack full
of dirty clothes
and half a pack of cigarettes
lets me know
i was there

the lights go by
like tails of birds
phoenixes all
trailing sorrow and joy
like the last look
from your eyes

a picture in a book
of sun kissed cinnamon
and broken hazel
smeared with prints
and ashes
taken
in the park
on lazier days

the highway rolls on
in pleasant blackness
while i lean my head
against the cool glass
people drive by
anonymous and beautiful
and i watch them
inventing lives for them
as they whip by
on to lives
less ordinary
of my making

that day in the park
you held my hand
and whispered in my shoulder
of jokes we shared
and plans of travel
with the sun on your face
and your hazel looking
for a promise
i knew i couldn't make

the birds are gone now
just the complete
blackness
of the road
and it's fine
i have another photo
in my mind
and i don't turn the page
just yet

it was something
that day
i enjoyed every smile
you slipped
it was like
something real
we could hold in our hands
feel
taste
like oranges
on august afternoons
in the park
enjoying the stickiness
on our hands and faces
not wanting
to wash up

i held that frame
for as long as i could
then leaned my head again
against the cool glass
and slept
in sweet
dreamlessness

in the warm black
sky
of the highway