the words we would write
are small and slow moving.
they would drown in a heavy downpour.
so specific, these words, and yet
you seem unsure . . .

fooling myself
when you look at me
i'm not a mirror, but a glass
i am a glass on the edge
of a table
and you are the drunk
about to bump...
crashing to the floor
it is not an end
and you don't seem to notice
all the pieces being crushed
under cement shoes
stop it!
walk around the shards,
you certainly won't fix
this mess.
leave it to someone
who cares, gentle hands
that will carefully pick-up the pieces
yes, you, just walk away with your cement shoes
-------
call me
there's new horizons,
and tomorrow I'll be
falling 18,000 feet.
If I don't make it,
please water my flowers,
you can keep the book,
and all my cd's are yours.
I'll miss you checking me
for tics, after the forest
and the sunglasses incident
when we laughed for two hours
then every thirty minutes after.
Some will say I am making a mistake,
but if I keep looking backwards
I become bent
I become twisted.
You told me peanuts counted as
food
when the pain got too much
and I needed to gulp Ibuprohen.
You came after me in Colorado
when I believed a
colder
climate
would ease my mind.
You were the guardian
of my drunken antics.
So, please water my flowers
just in case
I don't make it back
this time
and think of me when you listen
to the Blue CD.

-------
I like the metaphor in the first poem. Second poem is touching. Merkel