To the Poem I Did Not Write Last Night, & To Its Reader Who Will Not Read It But Will At Least Have This

To the Poem I Did Not Write Last Night, & To Its Reader Who Will Not Read It But Will At Least Have This

A thousand years from now, the distance between last night
and tonight will be infinite. Unreachable, like the star

you pretend to hold at the end of the line I never wrote.
The last night of a waning moon is this night’s memory

cradling in its thin hand the entire darkness
of what we almost cannot see and so pretend

is not there even as what never happened
pulls us back like moonlight through winter trees.

Stay awake to watch. You have only twenty five thousand seconds
to read this before you wake up remembering that

I never wrote it, brimming with loss and a poem that
started with How does the waning moon still rise?

11 thoughts on “To the Poem I Did Not Write Last Night, & To Its Reader Who Will Not Read It But Will At Least Have This

  1. reocochran

    Ooh, so cool an idea, Jeff. Futuristic and poignant too. Thoughts that go in expressed make me sad. My parents raised us to say our wishes, hopes and dreams aloud. Then, if we miss someone we can at least say we tried out best to get to know them, date them, too. 🙂

    Reply

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s