Micah Ballard


For Cedar

I do not speak of love
nor dare mention its names
only what we're like
without it. Walking down
this deserted street

vacant from future faces
who would adorn me
take me home after cognac
or marijuana, which one
was it? It's all the same

either away or on trains
the memories call back
into being, the present
remains at play with what's past
only their bodies beside us

only your mind with mine
will tell, can lead us further
beyond these long nights
& dark days which hourly
we cast our spells.