Adam, The Sun Still Rises

On the days that you are bathed in darkness,
I wait to watch the shudder of dawn break open on you,
Sunshine yolk spilling down your angular features.

And in those moments of embryonic freedom:
the breaths of fresh air in swimming pools when we were young,
I can see you as you were, before the days grew long
and your responsibilities rose to drown you.

Before you blew out thirteen candles
and wrinkles stretched out from the corners of your mother's eyes
like a cat yawning in sunlight.

To a friend, on the cusp of everything

God, I miss you already.

I know we have these months ahead,

and soon you will be off, happier,

brimming with knowledge and passion and life

But I cannot let your fingers slip

from the warmth and sweat of my broken hand,

so I tighten my grasp and clench through my

bitter nervous system's stings.

Like this, I am moving through the days.

I am self- aware.

It is frozen far below the surface.

Will anyone hear the first crack in Spring,

the steady thaw of Summer,

when the days of watching, bleary-eyed, as you tell a story

from the floor of our friend's room

are gone?

When the workers arrive in hundreds,

armed with their ice-picks,

ready to dig it out of me.

When I am driving home, delirious,

and no one protests to change the music.

And I look down to find my hands are empty,

are stone.