Some Time

Cave Canem: A Special Section

As if something etched into pressed pulp guarantees another chance

We walk away drop the phone in the cradle crumple the letter in both hands or watch flames eat it black

The next step could be on the plane headed for the mountains bathing under slow waves or the step on the curb twisted wheels will soon cover

As if our hearts can pump past the number of beats we were born with

As if our lungs can breathe more breaths than we arrived with

Eagerly we step into fantasy neglecting the sadness in our wakes the fresh welts from words whipped from feckless tongues

Easier to lie than to love.