7772. LOVE'S LONG STORY CALLS

LOVE'S LONG 

STORY CALLS

I will no more let anyone sing to me, 

or hear their words as truth, or follow 

the story-line woven. That pillow with 

the weaving of a lamb upon it, I do not 

like. All those blues and grays just seem 

off-color. And once  -  upon the highway  -  

I swear I saw your aorta in the gutter. The

one I pulled from your heart but thought

I'd saved. I guess lost all memory long ago.

-

Now, here we are, driving north to that weary

precipice again : the car sputters and stalls, itself

knowing it doesn't wish to go on. You had that

cabin in the woods, all those years before, that

your regal family kept in trust. We used it often.

The fences, though they'd fallen and some wood 

had rotted off, they kept the pretty certain outlines

of the yards between the hills. We never did get lost.

-

But, oh, a million times we tried.

And yes, a million times we tried.