Without Mythologies

A soft breeze with the slippery concrete black and full of muddy slush,

Contrasting with the hoarfrost clean and hung

On a tunnel of silent shivering trees

The ones you said you'd like to be

And the birds that screamed at the sun

Now buried deep down below the ground beneath the snow

I press my shoulder to this wall between us

I know you are behind me but I press my shoulder to this wall

Determined not to turn around.

I didn't see you standing still,

That statue that I molded in my mind to kiss,

So beautiful you'll never move again.

Someplace far away

At some sad table littered with chipped plates, with bad light,

In 48 frames from a movie on the cutting room floor,

You said "True meaning would be dying with you"

And though I wanted to, I did not smile.

But now I will give up on this wall that I have fought with

Never uncover meaning behind our rich words.

If I could I would make you a raging river,

With angry rapids, supplied with rain,

So you could always meander

And forever be able to run away

Without contending

With myths wrongly interpreted

With pain.

A harsh wind.