Sunday, April 14, 2013

The Old Oak Tree We Never Sat Under

phone calls when all was dark outside.
your voice was soft; but not a whisper.
this; when the last thing i thought i could be
was not alone.

smile and widening eyes and
excited pronouncement of my name.
sweatshirt armored arms wrapping
around me.

we talked for miles on cracked concrete,
on the shoulder of the road that split
my second home in two. tell me if
you remember too.

if you do,

look for me
under the eaves
of the leaves
of the old oak tree
we never sat under.

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