Why Didn’t You Come Back?

Retreat through mountain roads,
red rocks and evergreens prescription
for early-morning fog leaving

with my heart, pain tired of waiting
for answers, constant tap against
estranged nerves not cured
by his long fingers, freckled eyes.

Immediacy—now I’m missing, too,
behind cool-minded waterfalls nestled
in cracks. Plunge to forget shrinking

memories we share but don’t matter
anyways to our bones, or white-washed
towns we cycle through at night
when shadows and alleys are sharpest,

but don’t remind us what is real…
This is the last my voice will ask the ghost,
silence a separate omen all it’s own:

feeling our void build like the sunrise
stuck behind vapor-covered hills.

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