under stand

i wasn't really there.
uh, well..
ya.
i wasn't really there.
when you say it
it sounds so different
than when i say it.
i
i wasn't really there.
i was always moving away.
i was always moving upwards,
moving outwards.
i was on skates.
i was riding a bike.
i was on an escalator.
leaving.
always in the process
of leaving.
you
were never really
ready to leave.

maps

i have never left this place. 
sitting on the front stoop 
looking through 
grass and scrub 
out over escarpment 
framed by ashen skies
soundtracked 
by a roiling lake ontario. 
i have never left this place. 
feeling the roughened 
cliff top grasses perched
imperiously over temperamental
waters. 
i have never left this place. 
entreating the sparse
indifferent cirrus wisps 
passing over 
flitting cliff swallows- 
where do they go during dark seasons? 
i have never left this place. 
and i wonder when memories like this
fall away, where do they land? 
i have never left this place. 
still, 
messages 
from the person
i left behind 
float to shore.