Olympia

Because of those places we would run to,
And November and how it would be night-dark 4pm and you were on the 41,
coming home to the orange glow of the windows and the smell of something already cooking,
the beautiful small death silent alone of knowing then that it had already started,
the leaving,
a thousand beautiful sad quiet hurricanes,
and I could see for miles, miles, miles.

They had set fire to the thing we made
and I made the mistake of thinking it would mean something, to go back,
what it was to be there,
those fair skinned blemish free people conversing and talking
like we hadn't made mexican hot chocolate the afternoon steve was over,
like we hadn't died for each other already,
a thousand times,
and this 4pm night-dark in my heart,
and at once I knew that I was not magnificent.
Just like that,
and some thing started to happen.
Some stirring in my chest.
Never gonna break, never gonna break, never gonna break.
I'm gonna fall.

All the mischief we'd agreed to tacitly,
there was this alley-way and that is where I buried all of the dreams of you and I there --
I know it grows still,
We have changed.
It is such a beautiful thing, life.
We will go back there and not recognize anything,
but you know,
and I know,
that on the corner waiting for the 41
smoking Nat Shermans and believing in so much craziness and beauty and,
convulsive beauty,
there they sit,
bookends,
waiting for time to wait them out.
Which it never will.