Here I was, wondering what I'd write about today. Thanks to Christopher, I don't need to wonder any longer. What would I do without Christopher?
Why I ran
Touched, I was, that you followed me
that I mattered enough
to be counted among your lost treasures.
If only you had kept your voice down,
touched me with the softness
of a robin’s wing, careful
not to jar our fragile eggs of blue
I would have fallen, fallen deep
but for the edge of anger, your
voice rising, an axe, gut clenched
like a fist, shattering the day.
June 1, 2009