This one's for you, Dan Gallagher.
Like that roof in was it Shelburne.
Or that fire escape overlooking scholarly drunks in November.
The Old Testament torn to shreds and plastered on the hallway wall.
Teachers crying on the bus.
How to learn to feel real sadness at last.
Hey, what did you dream about on the plane to Paris?
Kneeling by the river two thousand years ago, obsessed with its currents.
One learns, one does.
Teachers with cameras abound on busy streets, don't they?
Love beneath a crucifix, love in search of a lotus.
One scrambles with locusts, one anticipates a city.
I bled in a desert entirely of my making.
The heart can't break and yet.
Like the ambulance stuck in a ditch, remember?
Did we piss off your grandpa's porch at midnight?
One is alive, one is dreaming one is alive.
Before the lines of poetry I shared you hesitated and in that moment I felt one of the only real lonelinesses of my life.
Thank you for teaching me that But and Yet aren't gospel.
Hear that whisper, hear that singing, hear the sweet crescendo of yes.