frail plover
Six years I’ve kept your name like a song
I shouldn’t hum, but do anyway,
a tune that feels both right and wrong
each time it crawls into my day.
You move through hearts like open doors,
never staying long enough to see
the quiet wars, the unseen scores
you’ve etched so easily into me.
You don’t mean harm, or so you say,
just chasing sparks you never keep,
while I sit still, and waste away
on promises you never sleep.
You love in bursts, in scattered flames,
a thousand matches struck and gone,
while I have written out your name
in ink that refuses to move on.
Six years I’ve counted every glance,
every almost that never grew,
like I’ve been trapped in some slow dance
where only I remember the cue.
You give your heart in pieces small,
to her, to her, to someone new,
while I have never had it all—
just fragments I’ve imagined true.
It isn’t fair, the way I wait
like I’m the one who must be still,
as if my love was always fate
and yours was just a passing thrill.
And yet I stay, despite the ache,
despite the truth I cannot bend,
because you’re the only mistake
I’ve never learned how to pretend isn’t my end.
stone bison
steady hawk
ruby knot
wheat osprey