On and on goes nowhere at all

I think I

will spend a

lifetime trying

to be comfortable

with funerals

until I am

uncomfortable at my own

for I could use a little more

elbow space

and a lot more

daylight

*

There are days

when there are nights

when the moon greets the sun

with holes in its teeth

and when I have lost her

and am left wondering

what I won,

which can’t be more than

a bus ride back

to here

and a poem

I wish I could’ve

left there

a poem that would go on and on

so as to go nowhere at all

that she’d reach the end of

to find out that I had another

PS at the back

then another letter altogether

and then more and more

until I said all I couldn’t

by saying all I could

and there would be nothing left

so I would give her something right

something that would require

the moon and sun to see

something like this:

There are other days where there is no moon or sun

and you and I are all that’s left

and the sun and moon will miss us

waiting to catch our shadows tomorrow

and it would be enough

for it was the story

that did not begin

or end

or rise

or set

but it was a story

nonetheless

one that she could read

and interpret whatever

she liked

which, I guess,

I hoped was

still me