The more I see beyond
the reckoning words
and their sweet ache,
I realized you won
You always have.
I gave, you hid.

And this boyish want
has walked its way
away from you.
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 image by Tommy Carroll