I sit here writing some fucking poem
and all the while you are walking away

and I just sit there, thinking how you
closed your eyes when your laugh was sincere
played with your hair and looked out the window
of that café we went to, the one that could’ve been any place
since I’d’ve followed you anywhere that moment
how you said not much but I always heard more

Click and clack go your shoes
and the arch of skies dressed in lead
(gods can’t seem to decide
if it’s going to rain)
autum spins the leaves
that catch your dress, then let go
and you’re not looking back
(gods can’t seem to decide
if they want to give me a sign)

it’s all real and here and now:
the park bench, the grass pushing itself up
looking for spring, the knowledge
that you are ten seconds away
from exiting my life and time

I sit here writing some fucking poem
and all the while you are walking away

I feel the first drop
and you must’ve felt it too
since click and clack go your shoes
but faster now
and I get up because

Catch her, catcher
you still can