No boxes to check for that
limbo I lived in last year
and still do. You remind me
that I’ve paid and keep paying.
The cost of trying to live
between is now quantified.
It’s too steep. Onward, old love.
*
I give up hope like a fleet
of ships launched into choppy
waters, white bellies leading
toward the torn edge of the world.
I didn’t know letting go
would feel so much like war nor
I such a strange general.
*
Is it Mars or just my luck
that morning delays are mere
harbingers of evening waits?
So late we got to catch the
sunset on Newark Bay as
the Day Dreamer glided out
below, cutting a pink wake.
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