The Morning After

You shouldn’t feel
sick from
easing
out of animal
back into yourself, still

you clutch your
wild aloneness
in your lap
in an empty subway car.

The silence lay thick in the air
when you were done.
The slow separation - easy
float of a dream dissipating
the morning after.

The clawing mania
released away
the lightness of self returns
floats somewhere overhead.

A separation like rainbow
spilled oil
on wet pavement.

What is there to be sad about?

The finality hung
in the shadows under
his eyes,
the ease of goodbye a promise
neither would reach out
first
but he was pleading
please, see me.

You couldn’t because
”you’re gold but
men are twisted
around their root:
hunger
for endless treasure.”

You wonder:
did he get what he wanted or
will he be back for more digging?
You hope
you buried the best of you
deep enough
but someone else said

love is believing someone
is entirely real.
And isn’t he? 

Artwork by Wayne Thiebaud, "Waterland", 1996.