Alex

I woke up

when you
were a child
and the light woke with me.
Outside you were addressing the
wind:
singing songs of you
and why
you would rather wash dishes
than touch the sky.
I wonder if you
knew how close you were.
I will not laugh when
you say you're leaving.

Don't tell me anything
I know.

Your eyes were wishing stones. Perhaps
if I held them in my hands, closed
my fingers around your disaster,
you could have stayed.
But you really had to go.

--
2.3.12
Has it really been this many years?