The more I see beyond
your reckoning words
and their sweet ache,
I realize you won
You always did
I gave,
You hid.

And this boyish want
has walked its way,
away from you
and despite my stay
and turning look
I was leaving by weighted
line and flying hook.

And this turning to your
wished for face
has piled the wanting
piled the weight
like stones not counted
but hurtful thrown
at this sorry target
this sorry bone.

words and painting Tommy Carroll

(slight revision)