Sometimes

Sometimes I think about sky,

turning over shades of gray like the the pages

in a pamphlet on coping with loss.

I said I was sensitive,

And you just told me to live,

A life away from life,

A life away from thinking feeling experiencing

And when the blue skies blew them away in the wind

I was left to chasing after her in the pouring rain.

But how do I catch sunlight in my fingers

Or the laughter that rings in my ears

In a ghostly echo of times past...

Sometimes I think about cars,

Passing by in a flourish like dark figures in a funeral procession.

I said it was sad,

And you told me to be glad.

That it wasn’t me.

And I didn’t have the energy to tell you,

That I could be next.

I could be last.