dead plant.

there is a plant that sits on my coffee table.
it is the plant that my mother sent me
when you went away.
she thought that i needed to take care of
something else
so that I could learn how to take care of
myself again
She did not realize that I had lost myself in
taking care of you.
surprisingly, it lived for two years
through a few hurricanes
though it stayed indoors,
mostly, i think it was resilient
because it was a hefty plant to begin with
had a lot to give
even after losing a lot--
kinda like my very own giving pot
but this summer when i left it
the sun became too hot
it was sucked dry
and now all that's left are a few dried leaves
splayed out in their final moments
looking for sun
but the pot still remains
though life has long left it
and though I have learned to care
for myself again
looking at that dead plant
is somewhat comforting
and I can't seem to shake that feeling
or seem to want to.

i will love with urgency, and not with haste

things i would tell you if we were speaking:

1. i'm sorry.
2. i miss our conversations
3. you should read about Buber and I and Thou, it would make for good research for your book.
4. your sister emailed me recently. did you know?
5. i might be ready to speak to you again.
6. actually, not, probably not.
7. it's because on some level I know I still love you.
8. maybe i always will?

if i lay here
if i just lay here
would you lie with me
and just forget


---

last night i could hold you
even though i knew i couldn't hold on long
there was while when i held you
and you fumbled reckless in my arms

surrender

are you out there?
do you read this?
if you did, would you tell me?
would you contact me if I wanted you to?

saudade

the melancholy where past meets future
where last week
we dreamed together long enough
that i could almost feel you

we were on a retreat somewhere
hiding from everyone
including ourselves
and you reached out for my hand
and i pulled away
and i said

"no, i'm a different person now
a lot has changed in the past year
i've grown, i've changed"

and you said,

"I know, I have too"

and i replied,

"good, let's keep it that way, there is still more growth that needs to occur"

then i awoke.
and you were still gone.
and i wanted to go back to bed
just to have you close to me again
just for a little bit
even if I didn't want to touch
even if I couldn't go back
i just wanted you close again
just for a little bit.

No Road

 Since we agreed to let the road between us
 Fall to disuse,
 And bricked our gates up, planted trees to screen us,
 And turned all time's eroding agents loose,
 Silence, and space, and strangers - our neglect
 Has not had much effect.

 Leaves drift unswept, perhaps; grass creeps unmown;
 No other change.
 So clear it stands, so little overgrown,
 Walking that way tonight would not seem strange,
 And still would be followed. A little longer,
 And time would be the stronger,

 Drafting a world where no such road will run
 From you to me;
 To watch that world come up like a cold sun,
 Rewarding others, is my liberty.
 Not to prevent it is my will's fulfillment.
 Willing it, my ailment.

-- Philip Larkin