for i. s.
parked here, i sit wondering of you
two weeks have passed and no word
since you said you’re calling 911.
parked here, sweet crepes and butter
were our morning delight in franz's
since days we could claim youth.
don’t let this be that kind of poem
not yet, not in this way;
so far, those memories
so far, the path still lies ahead.
parked here, i hold a glacier’s tears
millennia have passed, patience, they say
i won’t count future lives until we meet again.
don’t let this be those kinds of words;
people murmur in fear of unknowns
since days we stared at stars.
8 february 2016