18 Roses

and that unfindable house

I never really turned down her street
it likely wasn’t marked
I probably wasn’t either

She would have been heavy with thoughts
wanting to carry what she could … of other people’s luggage
aware of the pain — nearly shunning it
but driven like Alaska … and Seattle … in the summertime

she would have peered right into me
not with lasers
but with a soul … and a chest …
that wanted to care … wanted to do well … in the desert

she would have come with training then
but the wheels would be gone
and so would her parents
because … they would have granted their trust to her

She’d be friends with camels
with butterflies
with water
with trees

And some of those things
would hug her shoes … as well

but I never found her street
and I wish I could cry about it now
— she might have seen mine
and even her big heart
would have something like wisdom
packed in … with all that goodness
(for understanding can be a quite rigid thing)

and if she was sharp
— all the more to her credit
all the more … to my dry tears
all the more … to the silence
and those gentle piano keys
that carry a dry leaf away

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