Bases

Back then I had so much to say.
It'd always been her
and that was the only thing I'd ever wanted the chance
to let her undrstand.

So I'd rehearsed everything;
made really sure to use only the best words I knew,
and practiced them all
until the timing of each pause sat perfectly within the mix
—never rushed nor hurried to the next.

But as she stood there in front with her back to my face
while hers shot short glances towards the far-off and falling sun,
my nerve went missing
and my imagination collapsed
—fugitives in the face of the moment I recognized as the one;
the chance I'd always thought I'd needed;
that for which I'd always asked.

And though separated by near-nothing as I watched,
having been pulled in tightly by the years
seasoned with subplots and miscellaneous minor characters
now as gone as each snow became,
I knew that however close I may one day get . . .
it'd never be the closest.

So I just stood there,
letting a film of sand and salt
snuff out the sight of the feet upon which I did so,
while that of her knelt down close to the waters ahead
branded a scar into me more pronounced
than anything she might've said ever could have.