In the spring,

when everything began to grow,

we sat in a field of green and yellow

spinning dreams about the future.

Yours was set in stone, and I was there

Mine was outer space and I was waving at you

far below, a thousand miles away.

In the spring,

when everything began to grow,

I counted backward days and threw up

all of my childhood

My future set in stone and yours a quickly scribbled postscript

to a tale you couldn’t write.

In the spring,

when everything began to grow,

I watched you die

counted lines etched in your jaundiced skin

and breathed the scent of giving up

with every word you spoke

I held our son and said good-bye,

your future set in stone, a gift

given to yourself.

In the spring,

when everything began to grow,

I sat in a field of green and yellow,

spinning dreams of the future

drinking coffee from a plastic cup

counting birdsongs, making pictures from the clouds

grateful, every second

for everything you left to me.