That picture in your eyes,
the one you have of me
on the old stone bridge
by Adelphia road.
That isn’t me anymore.
That can’t be me anymore.
That picture in your mind
of us on the boardwalk
in the late swell of next summer
hand in hand, in the orange light –
That will never be me.
That cannot be me by your side.
As the ash tree strips itself in winter
and waits for the new life to come,
I stripped myself down this evening
and rid myself of you.
While you still shine upon her skin
you cannot shine in me.
I’ve learned that picture in your eyes
is always false.