We were a magic circle of candles,
you were the light flickering,
I was the floor
and we prayed with foreheads touching,
a position I have never again attained,
too stiff with rules, with longings
that bled rust tears to ruin me.
When I run, I falter.
I hear joints creaking,
screaming, "Stop! You are
no longer young!"
If we had known what was to come,
we should have burst into flames,
been carried away on the wind
that blew sweet across the sleeping garden
that we carefully explored, little scientists
looking for signs of life.
Autumn fire makes my eyes water,
makes me want to light candles,
lay with my head on the floor
and conjur what was once us.
Instead, I buy a new notebook and pen,
make resolutions that burn holes
in the page, into my life,
where you taught me to dream and run.