Like a prisoner
in a cell
I live in my imagination
because I can’t
walk into the world with you—
but in my mind
my dreams can make love
to my favorite memories
and for a moment
I exist in a kind of paradise
of happiness past—
that first night
around the campfire
where we celebrated life
with shooting stars
made of toilet paper rolls
and laughed so hard
the owls were beginning
to feel annoyed
and asked us
who who who
do you think you are
and in that moment we knew
exactly how to answer—
and nights like this
when I fall apart
in the absence of your love
I wonder
if I’ll ever see you again
and I begin to wonder
how many others
have loved so deep
they would walk
in opposite directions
with full faith
that they would meet again
on the other side of the barbed wire—
and by then
would be standing in their way.





Photo by Wilma Birdwell

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