late summer rain

a broken man i remain
washed up
on the shore of my disengagement
painting over fences
that haven't yet been mended

i find it a little bit hard
to honor your averted gaze
finally and without remorse
a piece of me in yourspace
claimed and neutered

i find it a bit hard
to see a map or a picture
and think of my home that will never be
never to see you again except
in the small and strangled hours
of my deep red mournings
full of silence and criticism

i had everything you never wanted
and now even that is gone
vanished like late summer rain
in the arc of my waving arm

a neverending supply of if-onlies
a solitaire of distraction
from my little bit hard reality

if only this were as inevitable
as everything else between us
but i cannot celebrate what i don't believe.