Make this your
validating
forlorn call
to the lovers on shore,
from all of us
whom are left out at sea.
To me, we will always be,
the way we were by the canal,
that summer August afternoon.
We held hands and laughed,
and I forgot it too soon.
I’m still counting your smiles,
and the words you spoke.
Sometimes I reach to the millions.
Sometimes I reach to the thousands.
sometimes I reach too far,
sometimes it’s only three.
I heard, the first birds
of spring, just the other day,
so I started counting butterflies,
like the ones I still had,
the day of your funeral.
