Have the Blues, Shake Him Loose

I don’t think of you
as a collage of moments,

I think of you only
as a fragile illusion,

full of allure, gentle
petals. Trailheads

with possibilities–Birch
and greens to crawl through,

cool shade to rest in,
with arms longer

than the distance between
lakeshores, the kind

of hands that could never
just be a caring friend.

I could assure my flare
is all flash but singed

fingers give up my intention,
already tearing through:

searing paths we take,
mine dusted with ash,

prints carefully
crossing sideways…


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