There has to be shallow rivers where memories become seaweeds and shiny pebbles.
There are roads I’m told, where dreams are picket signs & a child waves from a misty car window before it crashes.
There are scars I’m told, fathers leave on their daughters’ tongues.
There are skies I know, where the sun is a widow and shadows grow longer.
There are arms I know, whose warmth becomes home to the heart of a man in love.
There are tears that say, I can’t see another dream tonight, if you ain’t in it.
There are times I miss you. Such times become chisels that chip away a piece of me.
There are pieces I know that have your laughter in them. Pieces like our daughter’s eyes.
There are kisses that speak on my lips’ behalf. Such kisses are butterflies from my spine.
There are some poems I know, that seem to say something. Something like, I wish we never broke up.
There are poems that become you when I write.