A park bench, four bottles, and we drew the line
erased it because we could, then drew it again.
Fingers interlaced, tracing our shared detritus.
These things happened within the dot dot dot.
Tattooed on the roots of his everything:
‘it’s looking like a limb torn off’
he still sings for her because she
understood his mirrored writing.
“I once had a tree on which I could hang my hope.”
I said this easily because it felt safe.
He picked me up, held me toward the wind.
This is how we said goodbye…
Inside the ellipsis of my suitcase heart,
there are experiences that never rub off.
Written in ink, impressed upon the bedrock.
Only an evening, but not less real for that.
©Julie Amber Jones, 2011