Postcard

you said
"my eyes were a blue
bright blue
saturday"

i  want to crawl away
in the high side of day
where upon 1000 caterpillar legs
someday
i will become  
a guided butterfly astray
from your collection

in a day or two

you would have no recollection

once at a cafe we sat
over tiny cups of espresso
mine filled dusted with sugar
spackled all over your table

you said
"blush
la vie en rose"
and slid your finger
down my right
cheek
the touch of your hand
and unable to speak

 you said.
"you little bird"
stringing lights
from tree to tree
be free of me"

instead i went barefoot
in your grass
regardless
of the bees
and scraped knees

"be free of me I  beg you."

and then he was gone

my eyes turned from blue
to stolen gray
i sat in your window
waiting for that  day

the day you would return tome
 

but I held
your unsigned postcard
in my small hands
with a drawing of a sailboat
and finger smudge of foreign lands

i sat on my grandfather's dock
watching the postcard float
to the flocks

you had your reasons
not to talk
you had your reasons

to go
to run
towards
the places postcards come from

i sat  
one saturday in our park
in the loneliest dress ever made
my memory
had  to fade
i folded your sailboat postcard
into a paper sailboat
and watched it fall from the earth
into a sewer drain

decades later
while washing dishes in a sink
i might dare to think

how much you meant to me