The lees of the day

The night is a tablecloth soaked with stars.

The moon is a dirty dinner plate

smudged and scraped.

The streets are peppered with passing cars

I sit alone, the hour is late.

Adrift on a broken raft of woes I wish that

these lines may be posted out to sea,

and meet soft hands or firm rocks

as the accident wills.

Sometimes I wish I was a spiritual man.

I wish that I could bottle sunlight.

but If I could have you back

without my mistakes.

You stand alone as an evening star

brightening the great painted vacuum.

I never wrote much for you

or knew how much I cared.

A spider sits upon my shoulder -

its silken thread brushing my neck. 

It whispers of the mortgage, the end of student days.

of never knowing what could have been

had I been braver.  Of passing time,

of friends drifting away.

A few lines in my notepad read:

Blue bells ring the start of spring

great swathes of regret

with time the loss of everything

of everyone

we ever met.