that winter I gave your name
to all those gravel roads
to all the empty miles
my weary legs carried me along

Would you understand what I meant if I told you that the music was never loud enough?

in the end
even your memory
left

it is strange
to think
she may be the
last
to know
the color
of my name

i hope you know
there will always be a place
by my fire
for you.

I dreamt that we were sitting
on top of the picnic table
again
under an unreal sky

and she smiled and said
“I have surveyed all possible futures:
There is nothing but ruin.”

I didn’t know what to make of it
then,

but I haven’t seen or heard
from her
since.