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.