Behind the Counter
sunrise
warm skies
tired eyes
such surprise
I may be dazed
but, through the haze
(the avalanche of stress
that has been these days)
I still look for the lighthouse.
Sometimes I glance a shimmer
when I’m lucky, sometimes a spark
that will complete my whole day
or light up my night, when it’s dark.
And I’m tired, so tired.
I strain my eyes while I search.
Even when he’s exactly what I see
I know he’ll always be
too
far
to reach.
On all the offbeats of our conversation
and even when we’re in syncopated annotation,
I can’t make it any more clear
that you are the only music i hear.
I declare it with everything but words
(because words are hard to keep pace with when you’re near).
That is when you turn to leave.
I feel your name hit the back of my teeth.
Why must I second guess how to breathe?
And since when did I forget the voice I use to speak?
Read more from Molly
~ And Poetry After Dark
