There might have been another way,
other people, places, things—more or less
obstacles to overcome, rest upon—

but no straight line, no short cuts
across the board to get to this spot
along the creek waiting for a rain.

I believe the weatherman, refresh
my contact with the goddess,
send my love in letters, words

rearranged to attract her
attention, but I’m no lackey
to scrape and bow, grovel at her

pretty feet. It’s not the same as before
she left without a sign or warning.
There might have been another way:

studied harder, charged more
for a shorter trip across the board—
but how could HERE ever be the same.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.