Riding the wild highways
on a motorbike through
the trees where a crazy
girl laughed at us in the
spring my wind blowing
in your spinny hair your
waist around my arms an
explanation for sixteen
years of unwishing things
turning out as promised
in all the storybooks they
give you as a kid so forget
the storybooks and you
are such a mystery of a
boy who barely shaved and
so beautiful it’s a shame
I could not have captured
more of you on film back
then to prove to the world
the brightest heart of your
golden-torqued milkshake
mythology of things 4H-
ADHD learned breathless
as a boy in the velvet chairs
of a theater where we bonded
over drama and a love of
happy endings you were
too young for me, one full
grade behind, but you
kept showing up so who
cares if you were fool’s
gold or the promise of
something never comes
the real king or shadow,
I’ll tell the truth about
your country house with
the willow tree and the
spiders the big, shaggy
dog, the fierce cat leaping
down into the holes you
dug for gophers trapped
by death descending from
above and the grass cut
itself you had pony I
guess out there where
pavement ended and the
gravel roads ran on into
a world where summer
never overdue, not so
much that all roads lead
to your house, more like
they could take a person
anywhere, in those trees
a path away from dead
ends but now I see it was
your mom setting my place
at the table your dad paying
bills and I admire them and
wonder if you miss it, a boy’s
hand on my shoulder or
tuning the radio to a song
about love is what I will
always think but children
were rather made to grow
up so I am throwing away
camera knowing even
one picture of you would
only collapse the world.