There is a game the world plays.
It keeps me up at night and alters my breath.
Carried down from cynical stairwells,
gravel accented with failure, loss, and violence.
I can no longer see the road where she danced.
A notion that had never really left me,
but continued to sway with the rhythms of my back-steps.
It goes, does not wave but disappears.
I struggle with forgetting, but each of those sins –
must be forgotten.
Give me something to feel.
So I can bottle it gently,
break it under my breath,
and repeat it in reverberating whispers.