#1
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
identity;
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.