The only people
Talking about her these days
Are the one who don’t
Know anything at all.
Those who know
Stay silence,
Whether out of shame
At how they mistreated her
Or for some other reason
I can’t comprehend,
What transpired becomes
One of a mystery
For the ages,
She and then know
But nobody else.
Maybe if I climbed up to
Seventh heaven
And pounded on her door
She might tell me
Most likely
She would call the cops.
I sit on my hands
Letting the whole thing
Fade away,
Waiting for the next
Chapter to start,
For her to make
The eternal trek
From this shell
To the one she expects
To settle into next
If she even knows
This isn’t like other times
When everything
Seemed self evident,
And we could see why
She went
I stand near the river
Where she sometimes stood,
And wonder about the old axiom
Of never being the same river
Because of the water flow
And wonder where she
Will sat out to next
When the tide comes again.
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