i’m here again
where the sun rose as i fell
doubled near-perfect on the surface
only as far as eyes could reach
mirroring warmth blooming, our smiles
i see it in the photos
by the water, tucked under my arm
safer than you’d ever been
safer than I ever would be
the night is warmer now
i feel it stick to my skin
there’s voices around, a cat slinks under a bush
a diesel engine idles alongside footsteps
i feel crowded, aware, unsettled
the calm has faded here too
the uncertain safety, the hope
i clutch my camera on a bench
hearing conversation float from where we once stood silently
watching ducks cleave slices through the otherwise still water
the magic has faded
im alone under a streetlight in a park near midnight
i came bearing a cross which captures only light
to exorcise your image three and a half years on
to face this before i run away for good
to understand, to accept that i will never be okay
not entirely
that i can’t leave you in a sunrise
in the rare, impossible line between horizons
in a smile betraying care beyond what I denied
beyond what you’d accept
but rather twist and twist around my own arms and neck
pulling your red string tighter even as I gasped for breath
then tying it up in a bow i still can’t escape from
which tugs me closer on empty streets at nighttime
dragging me here to try and breathe
find a knot to slip through
and release these thoughts in ripples through the water
i expected to feel your presence here
half expected to hear you call my name
to feel an echo of that morning through my body once more
as I drove dreaming drama scenes as sad songs played
but you’re not here
this is just a park
the lake is just a lake
i walk down to the jetty
take my photos, then leave
and, again to my left, the ducks still swim.
