we walk away
and we think
there will be others
just as passionate
just as comfortable
just as necessary

perhaps more kind
more attractive-
safer.

and what we discover
instead
is that time passes

and our bodies age

and memory twists back on itself
whispering in our ears
in the little dark hours:

"fools," it calls us,
"poor, lonely, stupid fools",
as we head for opposite shores
casting heart-shaped nets

and coming up empty
night after night,
always empty,

and we wonder,
(only to ourselves, mind you),

we wonder
where are all those other fish
that swam by so prettily
way back when our nets were overloaded
with each other?

08/26/2007

Posted on 08/27/2007
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