Untitled

Is this it?

The final closed door,

the last yellow sundown we’ll see,

two crossed arms and the unmistakable

feeling of estrangement —

Honey, I can’t stand your sweet and loving

silence anymore.

Cant bear to remember

how we hailed my first cab in New York,

or listened to those silver wind chimes

sing in Old San Juan.

Can’t bear the thought of the

lamplight on your face each night,

and watching the sky behind you

slowly burn blue.

Then sit with you in a silence

so profound it cut us both ways,

and left in its place only the

glaring specificity that life is all about

those losses and can’t haves —

watching a dream slowly dismantled

right before me, as a man

becomes subtly different each day.