I think 
when not 
thinking about 
you I
do because 
when you’re 
not thinking 
about me 
but do 
it’s our
souls that 
really are 
like loose
water that 
always finds 
the drain 

Letters make words 
and words poems
and poems books 
and books a
life just as
fingers make a
hand and lips 
a mouth and 
skin a body 
and this then 
makes us too

And with each
passing day before 
gets farther away
just like exits
on a highway 
when approaching one 
I would’ve wondered 
just what if
but now behind 
me matters little 
onto somewhere else 
maybe to stay 

It comes 
a time 
that when 
one does
and then 
it’s counting 
just what 
and not 
and it’s 
decided too
to either 
keep doing 
or stop 
and this 
goes for 
all things 

As a child 
I had stuffed 
animals and we
went on adventures 
too many to
count and recall 
and it wasn’t 
until much later 
did I realize 
that the journeys 
were never with
another only me
and that for 
many years I 
was my very 
own best friend