Thursday, January 7, 2016

Dance with Death

The ground is softest behind the pond.
Ankles lost in the mud.
The shovel grows weary.

Your neat package of tape and plastic
is fraying around the edges.

I reveled in the calm.
I never had to answer questions 
that were never asked.

The loneliness ghosted my nights
until you oozed your way 
into my every crevice.

I waited and waded through calls
and messages of self doubt and uncertainty.
Scheduling became my master.

I longed for the lost quiet 
even as I enjoyed the rush of being
pinioned and over powered;
the gravity and the thrust,
the taking of flight.

I forgot my way,
and crossed the streams.
The cost-benefit ratio weighed
against you.
I chose the silence.

The neighbor has a new dog.
I need to dig the hole a little deeper.

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