promise
he saw her on the tram on his way home
he was heated by memories that sped him up
to ride on a way that would be far from hers;
yet he slowed to see the windows of the tram
as with all the trams he has always passed by
to reflect on the glass who he might ask to be;
she was clustered in visions of sadness
grasped in the growling scream of her frown
with open lips that could exhale no sound;
she got off the tram as if it had not stopped
her motion a single intention that drew back
from her first dream of how she had to become;
he could not reach for her distancing pace
as he set backward to the promise he made
and the events that took him away from it;
she might have never loved him as she played
considering that no feelings were ever to come
as she was never wiling to see what she inspired;
but he had made that promise, not to her only,
to the world that once was his and that cracked
to engulf him with all that he dreamed for her;
she dreamed for meadows where glory blossoms
where she could hear in the sound of mating birds
syllables confounding the cries of loves left behind;
but he had made that promise, to fashion for her
all that clutched in him from her turned shoulders
cold in his embrace to eclipse horizons from his sight;
he would never be able to understand the depths
of the hollowness that atmosphered in all her actions
to depict the growling of a poetry she could read;
and his blood shivers in the spin of outstripped quills
for paralyzed flights he knits to strike his song upon
with the pulsing of visions he cannot offer
to make her stay.
