i do understand why you left

and, in the embrace of time,

i've come to understand, also,

why i did the things

that made you want to leave.

i do not understand

(and likely never will) 

why we did not find a way.

'you made it difficult',

you could say, and

yes -- even though the thorns,

the mazes and the moats

were never meant for you,

i did make it difficult

-- because i was a fool

raised among fools

of the kind who see very little, and 

get that tiny fragment

wrong, too

but understanding is

overrated.

what good is it to me?

bukowski was right --

there's nothing worse

than too late.

in another universe,

i still have your compass

we are kind to each other

i tell you stories

and we are happy -- as much

as we're allowed to be

when i bring in your

birthday cake.