i <3 this poem. i cut it out of a magazine when i was like 11. i wish i could write like this. rock on to whomever is the author.
an ode to the end of something
whatever it is
that ended
left its mark
on your face.
even in the snow
in the light
that bounces
from drifts and filters
through tree branches,
your eyes are
darker than I remember,
even from yesterday.
whatever it is
that ended
i can feel in the
dark as we walk
and snow accumulates
on our shoulders,
on the hood of your coat.
it falls on your bluing
lips before you lick it
away and dissolves
in your mouth.
whatever it is
that ended
has created miles
so impossibly far
in length, gulfs
of space that I couldn’t surf
across.
maybe if we were
in Hawaii,
whatever it is
that ended would
seem luscious and mysterious
but here and now it is just
cold and dark; moving
through night and day
like smoke.
c. collins