a thousand flights ago -

when all my friends were talking

about leaving, about leaving

and i was most vehement

but we all know at the end

of the summer i will be home

again, home in my habits

and home in my hallways

but you will all be gone,

by road and sky and sea

scattered around the globe,

and despite the promises we make -

i to leave, and never return,

you to find your way back

to me, we all know the truth:

you will run through the deserts,

and i by the rivers, and in the end

i will come home

and you will be gone;

 

a thousand diners ago -

whorls in the wood i sleepily trace

with one finger tip, looking up

at the waitress, smiling dopily

when she asks, ordering

a plate of waffles

to share

and you ordering a black coffee,

to go;

 

a thousand go-kart tracks ago -

swallowed gasoline, mussed hair,

the full moon cresting the horizon

behind the overpass entering the highway

which crosses this fair state

which we both hate -

when it was my birthday,

and i didn’t tell -

until later, and only as leverage,

as guilt -

when we drove in the cars

that were our freedom

and blew our money

on frivolous things;

 

a thousand things ago,

things that i didn’t say,

meant to say,

before you go, i say,

but only to myself

and it might be just

slightly too late.