on winter mornings
I still exhale
parts of who we were then
as the frozen weight within my chest
I perceived them as then
finally seek flight

and like all memories
that upon leaving
become smoke signals
they spell:
“come back.”
to a blind and indifferent loneliness

and those moments were born
when we were young enough
to sit and smoke
beneath the underpass at night
and perform passages of parting
for those passersby
shooting between portals to nowhere

when we still dreamt
that the gravity of our goodbyes
would someday leave us weightless
not indenture us to become extras
bound to lose ourselves
to the background crowds
of each other’s nightmares

and those moments first learned to walk
when one of us, being me
let his inhibitions keep him
from dancing with you
in that gilded cage
that was the drizzle
caught within a streetlight’s reach
before a faceless crowd of strangers
that was too busy falling in love
upon those candlelit marble steps
to notice us making fools of ourselves
as we would have swayed on broken feet

and those moments grew up
to become me
smoking in parking lots
humming along to those voicemails
that in your absence
became eulogies

I finally learned to fly my love
but it’s meaningless
because
there is none left
to watch me leave.