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.
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.
chris j cluff 