I wrote about the rain
and the way your last train
seemed to drain down the street,
how the windows seemed to weep,
and your scent seemed to seep from the corners
of all your clothes with fraying borders...
The corridors were so dark without you
and I almost forgot who
used to woo the birds from the trees,
the flowers from their seeds.
All my needs, you fulfilled them all.
The only thing you had to do was answer my call.
It was fall and the tracks were wet.
I will never let
myself forget the color of your skin
after the crumpled-silver din,
the sin of forgetting to kiss your head.
You forgot to make your bed.
When you said, "I'll see you later,"
Did you think you'd have a savior?