I know a night has ended well
When my hands reek of firewood
And the sizzle and pop of burning sap
Bombards me with the heat of warm memories.
You and I, we sat together on the banks
Of an empty lake, waiting for rain
In the cloudy darkness of a January eve.
You and I, we balanced on a stone wall-
You waited in a black coat
The fringe from your scarf draped round your neck
Against a mild California chill.
But we migrated – you and I – from that stony seat
To an uneven throne of driftwood;
We found clothing curiously strewn about
As if January had turned to June and the waters had returned.
We remained,
Nestled by sand and a coffee berry bush
Sipping coffee.
We spoke of the past, we thought of a future,
And returned once more to the past.
While you spin a tale of art and anarchy, I ask myself,
Who are we? By god, who is this odd couple?
Where shall we wander—
What untrodden roads to tread?
We two…
Perhaps you are a dancing swan
But I, I have not the strength
To break the spell
That holds me, foiled,
To remember the paths we did not take.
Instead I will see you,
And remember,
The paths I will not take…
But at this moment, together,
A foreign familiarity creeps into my thoughts
We are reflections of phantom forks
In lives less traveled.
We go our separate ways
By our separate means
Only to meet with the inevitable
And face ourselves again.
Tuesday, shall we say?