almost almost

the last time i was here, you were still with smiles and eyes.
and all I can think of, speeding through these country miles,
is your grimace death skull deep beneath the ground,
alone and waiting without thoughts or love.
i wandered through the same old streets,
drank cheap bad coffee in the same old haunts,
passed on your news to those you knew.

they say hello. they say goodbye.

and passing our old house as dusk approached
i tossed a stone up at your window to try to break the stillness in my heart.
all i got was broken glass and angry screams.
so i ran drunk fast into the lamplit afternoon,
remembering much younger feet on these same streets,
back when we had smiles and dreams,
and i almost almost laughed.