do you remember the ghost deer

when we were so high

out of our damn minds

coming off that sunset hike

in Zion.

we couldn’t tell if they were real,

the deer,

so silent.


you were one of those deer

in my dream last night.

like I could touch you.


see those deer, they were real.

captured on your cam-e-ra.


they didn’t make a sound

but we could feel

their breath

on our sleeves

as they past us.


quivering shapes of grey.

fearless.

maybe they thought

we were trees.


and that lady—

do you remember that lady?

she was singing,

maybe,

outside our cabin

and the Mexican restaurant

where it all hit

in a THC capsule.


by the time that lady was singing

I had to turn in,

lay my head on a pillow

and digest it.


but you—

you blew out of the room,

out the door. had to go.

go photograph the stars

in that dark.


to photograph.

like you always do.

a need.

an action.


I lay under sheets hiding.

typing words.

what we’d seen.

the same thing

but a different fraction.


and in my dream,

we were somewhere.

somewhere different

than the one

where you died in my arms

because no one was there

to catch you.


in this dream,

I think you’d lost yours shoes

and you were holding a camera

like it was attached to you

and you told me you loved me

and your eyes were all glassy.

we embraced.


I woke up crying.


I miss you.


scratch that.

I miss who we were.

just two friends laughing

in the dirt.


dragging our city asses

up angels landing

rinsing our sweat

in a stream

like a dream

we were a team

then.


we scarfed hot dogs

nearly missed our flight

from Vegas

and it didn’t matter.


we shared a life.

dunked our heads

in the same bucket.

fuck it.

I wouldn’t say

that I forgive you.

but I’d say

I’d like to.


I’m all out of excuses

for you.

but I believe

you thought

you had to

later,

when you abused

your power

and I let you.


you tossed me

once I got the grit

to check you.


if you could know

the blow

I took

for your traction.


who are you now?

you still holding your own

lenses

hopping fences

to get the image

the satisfaction?


who’s tying your shoes?

who’s there to catch you?

to challenge you

to question.

maybe I’m naive

to still believe

there’s nothing

that can’t be

redeemed

when love too,

is an action.

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