Photo by Catalin Dragu. Creative Commons.
Sap rising in my veins
I step out the door
The wind lifts my hair,
Blows the fog from the pines.
I do not walk to lose this ache
I do not walk to find you.
I walk to carry the feeling, only mine,
Like a ghost in my belly.
The farther I go, the heavier it grows.
Maybe it began with the day in the orchard touching him
Or the afternoons in his bed letting the pain be love
Wanting to tear my insides out
Wanting to die from the neck down
Wanting to hide in the tall weeds
Wanting to walk this sorrow until it curled up
and went to sleep
I see their faces in the trees
In these cold green valleys
I am alone with the guitars in my ears
Every note a different lank-haired boy
I wished would hold my hand
And walk me home.