Daily Meditation #1

Pictures lining the walls remind me

your open eyes are miles away, miles of some

unwarranted length I could grasp the strings of

only in my sleep.

 

Memories don’t serve to remember, but to taunt

with the voice of what wasn’t recorded.

 

I want a door to step through, if only to see your

face. To know it was really there. Because I didn’t

trace its edges on the paper with pencil, some artist did.

 

With a 23-year-old mind you would think I know

the difference. You would think I could smell an

after-taste of when you were there with my dog-like

taste-buds.

 

In the two-spirit study session I reach for my

spirit animal, hoping that instead it’s you.

But it’s an otter galloping away from the shore-

line, frolicking in the grasses missing day’s dew.