Well you called me – telephone ringing in the night.  And you asked me if I was alright – like an afterthought, an oversight.  And I stood, so surprised, trying to hold on to my pride.  So close, I could hear your low sigh. I said I was fine.  You said you were fine.

There’s a loneliness – I don’t lose sight of it. Like a high distant satellite, one side in shadow, one in light.

But I didn’t mind to be alone that night, in a city I’d never seen – all these skyscrapers pooling on a prairie. Built high and tall, as though they all compete just to reach the darkness up above that once here had been –

Somewhere – if there’s a beauty you had seen in me. That I wanted somehow to believe – drift of sentiment and memory.  That I couldn’t have, I could not keep, no, it never did belong to me, it was only ever another thing I would carry. Still it held me, loyalty, to a feeling, to some glimpse, of a love that was only ever a kind of distance. That we could not cross.  ‘Gather no moss.’


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