Trickle

You stumble into my life
as if you’ve lost a road map
and keep returning, by accident,
to the same spot.

And I take you in every time.

You throw your words casually
as if your thoughts were confetti
and your thoughts were the paper.
You forget about both by the next day.

And I believe you every time.

We are perfect
except for the fact
that we can’t be perfect
in each other’s eyes.

We are flawless
except for the fact
that we can’t be flawless–
each other’s demise.

You are a dictionary entry, found under “fickle.”
You are a strong current in a stream,
but currently that stream is a trickle.

________________

July, 2004

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