Now hanging on to
something almost
completely fabricated
in my mind

I'm over you
     -I'm not over you
I don't miss you
     -I miss you

I have to
laugh at myself
or I will
rot from the inside

That ship has sailed
yet
I know there's
still a place
in me for you

Maybe it will
always be there
and
     in the years to come, it will flourish with flora and verdure
     until
          your absent form no longer stands out

          ...in your emptiness
          there is growth,
          wild growth

Who I am
now.
Who I am
now...
  Who I am
becoming.
Who is yet
to be.
Who may look upon me
and wonder how he
could ever look like that
or
live like that
and
he may laugh truthfully.
Even knowing
doesn't change who I think
I am now.
I am bound
by the boundless.
I am tethered, somehow, to
each version of myself.
Every iteration.
Every refraction.
     L i g h t
     L  i  g  h  t
     L      i      g      h      t
lightness
existing in the most graceful weave
between each of me.
Constant
but impermanent.
Influential and free.

Just outside, the
rain

plays.  An iron gate is rusting shut
across from

traffic lights
maintaining perfect
indifference
to
a newspaper
on a bench losing its
ink to the gutter.

I get the feeling
you've done this
before.  Now

I see,

I         was             just
                       one
                 part
            of
      the
cycle you like to repeat.

And so it was,
the brief respite attained
through our
lips and arms

and

bodies,

a sunset
mistaken
for a sunrise.

I was just happy to see those
colors stain my sky again,

I refused to
see
the
sun
sinking.

I get the feeling
I've done this before.
Now I see, you   were   just
                                  one
                           part
                     of
               the
        cycle  I  like  to  repeat.