spring

Remember when we built walls?

Out of brick and wire and metal and glass.

We built walls around our trees and our toys

to keep the neighbors out and the secrets in.

Walls too high and too thick

for conversation.

Remember when we built walls?

Out of dates and hands and pathetic glares.

We turned algebra to geometry

trying to solve our x's

but we only built walls around our exes.

And our exes,

they know our blind spots

better than strangers who cheat red lights.

March is made of summer's first breaths,

and school's final nightmares.

The echoes of July's fireworks are starting to sound like a prelude,

and the rain is begging us to let it go.

We ripped our enemies from the earth like weeds

and weeded out true friends

until our garden turned color.

Time doesn't trust us,

that's why it stops for no one.

But oh, how I wish it would only listen while we're kissing

so it could be irregular like our pulses.

I wish it would obey the stoplights and yield when we turned the corner.

I wish it would listen as we wrote our words in the sand.

Remember when we wrote our words in the sand?

High tide stole the sentences with our footprints,

and carried it all far enough away

that the echoes are drowned out by April's preludes.

Echoes are artificial.

Just like those walls.

Just like those words.

But we,

we are far from it.

Too far to hear it.

Too far for it to matter

anymore.