identify

I don’t know what I was saving the words for. I don’t know what I thought I would say once they were spent. The summer burns in thoughts of autumn, dreams of fall begotten storms, imbued with the tongue of passion. We wait upon the precipice, fueling the future with our flesh. Again and again, this shift, this skin. Once, so again the name pressed against your lips. I never know what was worth saving. I never know when it’s time to go.

You can change the curtains to match the drapes. You can scrape off every sobriquet. Try and try and try as you might, the world won’t go your way. Turn and train, weigh the breath and read the room, betray the grave to gild your tomb. The rose keeps on rose-ing, whatever the bent or handle. You may pray and scatter petals, you may bow and reach. There’s always the sun walking its beat. There’s always the moon hitting its mark. 

It’s a shame that I can’t see it. It’s a shame the things I say. I forget to check my messages. I never answer to what they call me. They never call me by my name. There are maps and other papers. There are photos, there are flames. The swing of the wind, the sway of the earth. Your longing a moment in the margins, this absence a breath swept away by sudden wings. The worn coat covered in dust shrugged off at last.