The memories we made
still stick to my shoes
like glue.
It seems like only yesterday
that you colored my life
with laughter.
Opening
As the silence dug its toes into the sand,
I had no choice
but to feed it
my heart.
Removed
The weeks have slid away
to that place
the weeks always go
and I have been looking
searching
all the corners of this room
for the words
I want to say:
I miss you.
I miss you.
I miss you.
History
if they ever write the story of these lost years
the pages graced by your name
are sure to be dog-eared in my edition
Oh, our lousy art
There are things you begin to discover
as the clocks continue
their merciless tocking
like when taking a sink bath
in a gas station bathroom
at 2:00am
you notice your hair is thinning
your skin is rough or sagging
in places that once were always smooth
and taut
your teeth, slightly and inexplicably crooked,
have lost their pale moon shine
and begun to yellow
like the leaves of a cottonwood in the fall
you learn of these things, and they hurt
they hurt
until you realize that you are not a sculpture,
not some painting to be hung upon a wall
not something static and unchanging
to be marveled at,
to be pondered over.
it is then that you finally begin
to understand:
you, your life itself,
is an evolving
work of art.
live it well enough
and it will be studied,
it will be imitated
more than anything they could ever hold
within museum walls,
and infinitely more
meaningful.