First Steps

December 15, 2009
I’ll spend a little while here.
With you.
Upon this hill.
I’ll watch the things you never told me drip
Down your face
The black omissions for your pride,
The silver stories for both our sakes,
The ivory lies for my innocence.

I’ll take a little while here.
From you.
Upon this hill.
Smudging the shadows that collect beneath
Your eyes
Collecting the scattered petals.
Tasting the condolences
That tear between my teeth
Pink and red and white
Pain and Sanctity and Illusions.

I’ll wait a little while here.
For you.
Upon this hill.
Until all the rest have gone.
And the air clears
Of their rank politeness
Until your loss snaps,
A needle blooms
And pricks a gray and thoughtful finger.

I won’t stay to watch the nettles grow
Around you.
Upon this hill.
I won’t stay to watch your shins bleed
To see the thorns tear up your stockings
Just like you
Won’t see the grass grow
Over me

Under this hill.

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