it startles me to simultaneously remember
golden afternoons and feet of snow,
daisy-chain crowns, thousands of hours of laughter;
leaving one beautiful girl on the doorstep
because of my own uneasy moral code.
an indulgent kiss in that copse -
on the street surrounded by people; on a cliff overlooking the river -
about which i can only now say that
i can never quite remember how it felt.

these years, i've found only change,
and now i look first for cassiopeia in the night sky;
i keep one foot beyond the door
and only sleep in the hours that i feel safe
from the manipulations of others,
from the tide of their feelings
and the shape of their breasts.