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December 18, 2007
December 18
I wanted a better picture to form
From the amalgamation
Of a hundred little pieces
I wanted something more complex and therefore more meaningful
But maybe I just missed the point.
The back of my mind waited for your phone call
While the front assured me that it didn’t matter
The christmas tree shone bright, reflecting
And eighteen flames rose from multicolored glass to release
Thin trails of smoke over the hearth.
We celebrate too many anniversaries
Of the written word
Of late nights at the keyboard
Of the same undertones in different masks
I don’t apologize anymore.
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