In Your Yard

I haven’t stepped foot in your town since

the leaves began their annual decay,

I whittled myself down to the bone,

And your patience in me drew its last breath.

Pacing back and forth between yours and mine,
Do you see my car tumble by on the road?
See the streak of red through the window of your office,
Look my way, then back to work?

I could send a balloon into the sky to reach you,

And hope that it finds you well

Or hope that it never does at all

Wherever it is you’ve gone.

Oh to be the rotting treestump in your backyard,
To be planted firmly in the dirt,
To let the grass and weeds sprout up around me,
Concealing my view when you come out for air.

Do not mind me.
I watch and wait for nothing in particular,
Only closing my eyes and inhaling deeply
The memory of when I was welcome here.