The
door
to my
heart
that you
slammed
remains
ajar
bleeding
slick
I
still
fall
for
others
that
step
there
loves
nightlight
drips
like
black
coffee
into the
cup of
your
hand
you
drink
from
it
sipping
me
slowly
feeding
from
my
life
blood
now
I am
love
anemic
It is
not
what
we
do
It is
not
what
we
have
It is
not
where
we
go
It is
only
who
we
touch
After all
in the
end
all of
us
live
on
only
in the
memories
of
others’
immortality
Listening
wind in
willows
rain on
glass
gurgles in
creek
sand under
foot
birds in
flight
leaves on
ground
silence in
heavens
breathing in
sleep
laughter of
children
tears of
longing
sobs of
breaking
crackles of
warmth
sighs of
comfort
giggles of
passions
these
many
things
are
my
life
sounds
Time
thinking
isolated
pondering
wondering
contemplation
absent
muses
words
lacking
hunger or
thirst
bland and
tasteless
ceasing
imagery
adrift
one
man
in a
one
man
boat
Walking
out
unkept
ruffled
hair
wrinkled
mismatched
clothes
unconscious
adrift
untethered
dirigible
unshaven
amiss
you
took
your
eyes
my
only
reflection
with
you
you
were
my
only
mirror
of
me
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 