the music doesn't lift my spirit so much
now that all our beginnings have
been weaved and are left
tumbling toward the floor;
the few moments left to embrace
are finished, the light of past
fading their luster like old farm houses.
we haven't spent a whole day together in months,
just a few hours scattered between trips, i'm home for five days;
'tell me about camp, show me your bruises'
i wont miss you when there is so little
time i can remember.

i'm left standing, holding
the rugged ends of a rope
that we pull back and forth across our boundaries,
so much slack that we cant cover the distance,
not the lack of passion but the simple lack of
the music doesnt lift our spirits so much.
now that our beginnings are touching the ground,
they pull and strain away from our stance-
a dumbfounded look: i know how
this will end.