Here in a photo album
beside the bed you
will find your long-ago friend
way back when he had just begun
to read the book,
when he was young with youth, dancing
in the flamboyant air, walking
in flamenco steps,
hosanna, hosanna, my messiah is come.
If I could dry him in the sun, spice him
and store him in a pickle jar for
a while longer I would’ve,
but I could not stop time.
I couldn’t keep him preserved just the way you like.
He read on, page after page,
the tales’ tragic tragedies.
Truth is the heaviest cross to bear.
You’re not the only one disappointed in change.
You’re not the only one hurt.
He looks at the picture and can barely recognise
the day you promised promises.
It changes everything, love.