When You Stayed Too Long

My companions this morning
are hours
from so many years ago,
sitting nearer than you
the last time
we shared a table.

It has taken me longer to say that
than you to say good-bye.

I am ready now.

I have a handful
of things I might have offered,
if you'd come to negotiate.
Tokens picked up
along the trail,
trinkets
polished with my worried concern,
wishes worn shiny in my pockets.

Too personal, I realize.
Too heavy to hold at arm's length
and you couldn't come any closer.

We were aware of being incomplete,
still waiting to be finished;
steadily becoming more ourselves
as we crumbled,
falling apart.

Able to name the color of your eyes
but not see them;
remembering being lost
without being able to lose myself
in quite the same way
ever, again.

Constructing days
of the nights you stayed too long
and didn't go home in the morning.
Missing someone
I almost was,
waiting for the woman
you might be now