Do you hear it, too?
That deep, dark hole that lit a fire in you?
Yes, dear, the one that started way back then,
when I was eleven and you were just ten.
All that walking and talking over washed babies’ cries,
without no goodbyes, or a mere tear in the eyes?
Looking back at the days that we spent in the sand,
and you would hold up your hand, and then make a big stand,
without a glance at the faces that grew from behind,
just like my goodbye –
the only room left for some stars and the sky.
July 7, 2013