I still read him sometimes. I go back to see if some of the magic I once experienced will be there. It is a fool’s errand. I have seen the man behind the curtain and know his words too well. I am no longer moved. I can only see the regurgitation of previous pieces, the shallow self-absorption. It is best to not look too closely, to be able to figure out how the trick is done as it taints every aspect, leaving me to understand all that I thought was talent was simply a con-man’s game of slight of hand. All just smoke and mirrors.
Write me
a
love song
Sing it
to me
in
my sleep
so that
it
will
become
apart
of my
dreams
and
I can
wake
with
a memory of
tenderness
I would
never allow
myself
during
my
waking life.
What if
I was
the one
who
could
make
you see?
What if
you were
the one
who
could
make
me scream?
What if
either
of
us
was
anything
to
the
other
Anything
other
than a
brief
exchange
of
fluttering eyelashes,
knowing smiles
and
missed
opportunities?
Brown leaves cascade through the air like confetti in a tickertape parade. What is it we are celebrating?
The rain falls silently, pooling at my feet. I wonder as the leaves swirl, is this just for me?
I close my eyes, breathe deep the damp air and think, Can I hold on to this just a moment longer?
I raise my hand to brush my hair out of my eyes and catch a leaf instead. Yellow, orange, and red bleeding together and the leaf feels supple, alive between my fingertips.
I stick it between the pages of the book I am reading, smiling. A moment captured.
Message In A Bottle II 