"No More Room On the Passing Lane"
Remember when you told me about the sun
how it doesn’t shake when it’s time to go
down—there must be another explanation
why it’s sinking so fast. The glow is not warm
enough and the light’s too dim to cast a shadow.
I may never understand us, so alike and so different
in the dark. Night has a way that brings beginnings
to an end, leaving us with conclusions that drop
like leaves onto wet pavement. We’ll cling to them
until the cold lifts the secret from our lips.
It all comes back to me driving across the Canal
Bridge. Outside everything is clear-- the sky,
the way birds skim over the water, the truth
that it’s always better to be friends than lovers.
When we were still confidants you told me
about a recurring dream. You would walk down
to the Charles, watch rain burn holes in the river.
You said it meant your confidence was breaking
between the east and west coast and you refused
to tell me which side had the sharpest pieces.
Remember when you told me about the moon
how it could be counted on to break my fall
if I were still and quiet. You promised a kiss
to cradle our last sin and told me I would think
the moment was slow enough to last forever.
© 2005 Alex Stolis
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