Meaning of Life

When I focused

I was cropped from

the long throw of your lens

Never since films

when the shade on your

face fell open like a yawn

And the light

above the sheet draped

over a noir dream

Though I've said

murky words

I never believed

When you spoke, but your

lips were truly

only yours.

Eyes were some kind of pale empty

rolled back somewhere uninvited.

If some final scene had ever presented

I struggle to remember when

we sang away from that old film

I can't enough to regret

nor stop imagining now

dancing, what it would have been.

We called it a movie then, but

I remember how amazing I found your

voice, your movements even as the grass

glistened. Why I didn't have the nerve

then, when life was so free, I don't

remember if I saw the ending?