I stand outside this evening,
watching light pull from the street
like a dress across the floor.
The leaves have started browning,
although some color sticks, and some
slight percentage hasn’t thought to turn.
October is gone, as it always is.
Find me here and ask me where I’ve
come from. Ask me why my whole life
has led to this crack in the sidewalk.
I will tell you everything.
Ask me what should be forgiven,
and what I hold in my left hand. Ask me who I
abandoned and where and when. Ask me if I will
finally confess that secret.
The lamppost will be my witness.
The rain will listen too,
though casually, without comment.
If you can’t stop, then turn your head and notice
before you drive off and forget,
that it’s hard to stand long in one place.
and feel this certain piece of earth beneath your feet,
because when you are this still, all that you were is with you,
Find me here, leaning against the Elm tree.
Ask me what I wanted, what I accomplished.
Ask me about the dream I wanted to have.
And I will tell you what you wanted and
What you never had. I will answer everything
that you already know.