I saw you sunsetting,
and wanted to say
hello
from the
hook and bait,
wanted to say
you’ll never
catch me
because I’ve
already been caught.
If I were to direct you to me,
I’d send you on a scavenger hunt of “sorry’s”
(I’m sorry if you don’t like those.)
sequestered to some boy’s closet
where there is a box,
(I hope you’re not afraid of the dark)
decorated in stars and spirals,
broken letters spelled out of the dust.
(If things get brighter for you, you’ll see that the writing is mine. Promise me you’ll make them new. Promise you’ll re-write them for me.)
You’ll open the box like a casket,
all morbid curiosity,
and cradle a disposable camera that was never developed,
but never disposed of.
I’m there, I think,
buried beneath
a few layers of immortalization
under just a hint of denial.
A keeper who is never kept.
He didn’t even get me in the frame,
you know.
Just the sunset.
And I blamed the sunset,
and sometimes myself,
but never him.
You’ll just have to take my word for it.
You’ll just have to time it just right.
Image by Florian Kurz from Pixabay
The Hemlock Journal 
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