Our first good times,
we shared my brown suede jacket,
you gave me a bullseye cross.
As miles between us multiplied,
seasons became years,
children owned our savage hearts.
Then, my home became your refuge,
a woodland to your deer,
with little white she-bear.
Now all your beautiful songs
are a solo for one,
and as I look for keys
in this post-everything life,
I see you see me in the rear view.
I can no longer hide in memory.
I must acquiesce.