Diffused

The tides pull me under my
pillow at night
when you wake and find
me buried
like a polished shard of nothing.

 

How can I say that my actions
were meant to
rival a yellow tree nobody saw
until your body
was uncoiled and diffused.

And all I did was rake my fingers into a dead mound of leaves.

 

Feeling like a sealed bud you
refuse to slit
I wither in the veiny shadow
of something
greater than you and I.

 

I said that my poetry was never
read with such
inhibition as it is now when
I try explaining
a word like "Universe" to you.

 

But, then again, I capitalize and punctuate my thoughts.

 

Where to go when I’m there waiting
and you close
the book and put me on the lowest
shelf in your
vast library of clever titles.

 

Some people write my spirit into
a lick of
fire or an unshakable dream
they just can’t
forget or justify in words.

 

And I hang those papers from a growing tree when it is windy out.
 

I wandered into the pages
and the words
filled the holes of a broken
gourd in some
long forgotten desert.

 

You said that you might
turn away
from everything we were
slowly building
for a roll down that path.

 

But that was on the other side of this coin and you tossed twice.