Wednesday, September 25, 2013


I’m thinking of that first 
night we stayed in your bed 
until two am
and you walked me to my 
car and I tripped going down the
front steps to the driveway,

the stairs uneven and my gait 
unsteady. You were two steps 
behind – a kind
figure following me down,
listening to me chatter on,
watching me stumble in the dark,
asking if I was ok.

I’m thinking of that now,
somehow chattering 
away at you still.
Do you think less of me
if I tell you: I imagine you
still close behind, a gentle
shadow in the 
unseeable landscape,

watching and listening
as I take another wobbly step
down - away from that night,
away from your bed
and your late night kindnesses,
and into my own 
unfamiliar and necessary deep?

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