Somewhere, a movie. Orchestral music,
a space odyssey in surround sound.
Now, the rise and crescendo
that means the hero has saved the girl,
at least temporarily,
from being alone. But too many times can you tell
they are both still lonely.
Even if I’ve been dead wrong my entire life,
I can’t take a single crossroad back.
Loneliness isn’t about
being alone. My old love letters
read like a series of misdemeanors,
but at that time I thought I was Juliet.
Too much introspection
and suddenly a wooden bowl is not just a wooden bowl,
but a vessel keeping dry my failed self-improvement efforts
and memories kept intentionally loose-leaf – easier
for sifting through, for catching flame.
First appeared in San Pedro River Review