“I’d rather wander lonely through a thousand lives
than to see you pulled from the sky.”
They never said it,
never said anything,
but it was the reason for it all-
all the chaos,
then all the quiet.
Years later when they moved
she found that newspaper clipping
between two mattresses.
He took the painting of her off the wall.
He’d won another award;
he hoped she still looked the same
but didn’t believe it.
She’d been published twice;
she knew he didn’t look the same
but couldn’t believe it.
And on the first day of Autumn that year
there arrived on two sparkling doorsteps
a painting and a newspaper clipping
with no words, no more to be said than
I’d rathered to wander lonely through a thousand lives
than to’ve seen you pulled from the sky
scrawled across the backs.