perhaps after this, we learn to see

When I got home,

I took a walk.

It seemed the right thing

--the only thing—
to do.

I needed to be reminded of it all again,

so I pulled two sweat-shirts

over my head: protect me, please,

against the cold of bitterness,

the chill of insignificance.

My feet tracked through

memories years deep,

slogging through ghosts of past

Chicago winters.

I mourned for what I did not know,

I grieved for all inevitable darkness that followed;

my lament was a howling

of silence--

sacrificed: tear tracks on 

cold-kissed cheeks. 

I found myself

lost in orange street-light shadows;

in the middle of the dark

field, I tilted up—

my eyes swallowed the prickling stars

in great gulps-- they pooled

in my belly like
the pop-rocks we ate as kids,

mini explosions

of eminent self-worth. 

You meant something then 

(and always, always! but especially then):

your life its own

vast miniature explosion.

I found comfort in your years;

they kept me from 

searching my own.