They say those empty verses left on the register
will come back for you,
but what do they know
the bridge never follows
as you traipse under its arched passageway
they don’t sing about the sparrows once they’ve
flown away for winter.
they don’t tell you when you throw a bottle out to sea
it doesn’t come back – the waves recede gently,
and with the tide’s return
dappled grey bubbles
lap at your toes,
echoes fading crimson sunlight.
Driving through the Deschutes National Forest by myself during a snowstorm, putting my hand out the window to feel the freezing night air and smiling the whole way through.
If my bones were wrapped around you
My skin was right in front of you
Would you smile and close your eyes?
I’m yours tonight
If you stay
I promise to keep it alight
For all these days.