apogee

the whole vast lot was empty and I parked at the far side not beneath a tree, waited a while in the car then shuffled towards you indirectly. I could have arrived in any vehicle from any vector to any proximity. I could have made a meadow ringed with willow and birch. I could have bloomed by your side in a gentle gallery of lovely wonders, harmonious warm always already there. but the wind was chilly passing through my pantlegs. a joint clicked in protest. my white waving flag, obscured by the fog, could not secure relenting from any quarter. I stood there waving something impure and intimate at one void after another, breaking promises faster than I could make them. after the long tail of good moments left the present all together and all alone, what sustained me boiled over untended, became salt circles on a stovetop and a scrape-destined pan. my orbit is still at apogee. at every moment physics plucks this elliptic from mythology and there again is apogee. inside my light is withering. both withering and withering and withering.