If Only I Could Write Him an Ode

I trace the outline of the stars

Not pulling them down,

No, my eyes, push them

further

and away.

It’s been one of those months

In the darkness of drinking,

In the shadow of reality,

pushing away.

I fight against

And dream of the what ifs.

I am not so lonely,

just secluded.

If I try

I can trace his face,

Or the image I imagine it would be.

Memory is tricky

And not always kind,

Full of clichés

And regrets.

I rarely believe in God

But this is one of those months,

I pray to him every morning

And curse him at night.

Against the stars I push

And feel whatever I feel

With no regret or clichés,

I push it

away.