rachel

we went to santa barbara and we were together
for a while, but I never did appreciate her until I began to know her for her mind
and for who she was.
It's not that I didn't listen or lost interest,
but that I was running astray, being intimidated by other girls who so easily showed interest.
and then one day inside a coffee shop the love was gone.
she traced my tattoo with her finger and held onto my arm and
on the radio Frank Sinatra's New York, New York began to play.
I stood up to leave, not wanting,
not needing any of it and I was gone. .

two years went by. I still thought of her, called her, and one day, we went out. we carried two separate poetry books. one from Charles Bukowski and another by Patti Smith. we climbed and stood atop some green electric box in North Park and began to read poetry. she would read a page from her book and I would read a page from mine.

the love was gone and me, not being able to accept it, left as I did before.

I still see her in my thoughts, she' smiles and sometimes, I hear the cure or the smiths or patti smith playing. sometimes I hear Stellar by Incubus. but it's all ok now. truly beautiful things almost never happen twice. wherever she may be now, I will finally lay it to rest, in my thoughts and at the
end of this poem.