Footprints on the Soil

You make yourself impossible
to love...
drifting off past the edge of trees
past fairytales and song
where wonder diminshes
and time closes with the stage.
Curtains draw and darkness leaves
a path of chirping crickets,
a bench under a street lamp.

Wait here,
don't go into the darkness alone.

You set the clock on random
changing every second,
and you give me the moon
smiling down, as though I were a child
and you an illustration
shining through winter branches
like something real
that never quite comes.

Don't fall in love.

I wait like something faithful
in a jar of formaldehyde
until the wind blows in the night
and it falls and breaks,
and now the path has broken glass.
The rain washes me away
into the dead of night,
where nothing even dreams,
yet I can't close my eyes.

Don't worry Dear.

I rest beneath a tree
a wilting fruit that turns to soil.
My job is feeding sprouts,
telling a story nobody believes,
still wating for my love,
while they all walk by
arm in arm
leaving footprints on the soil.