FULL MOON ON TOP OF A CHAMPAGNE PALM'S TIP

i see you write,
i listen to your voice
when you tell me that
what you have written
is a poem about your life,
i see you dance
and i thought you were all right
you never ask me to listen
while you cry
if you ask, i could have given
it time, and i could have given
you a hug,
the last thing i heard was that
you ran away, jump over the bridge
and there, you were gone.

your body was recovered and
prayers were offered.
i was there listening to the
prayers and their songs.

we lost you. we never had
the best of our times.

if you listen to me and my
poetry, which i have kept as
a secret from you,

you could have told yourself
that you can do much better than me.

well, i am not saying this with finality.
i am still alive, and still writing.

i will tell you perhaps,
when i cross my next bridge