Territories forever closed

Strangers As We Go

We leave so much unfinished. Most places will never know the
trod of our feet, the vanished architecture of our singular wander.
As your lips will not know mine, your limbs shall remain territories forever closed to me, tributaries never undertaken to the summit of their precious source. Lives intersect for the briefest crossings, pass and diverge like mighty falls around the smallest stones.

We leave so much unfinished. We archive all our worst intentions
and shelve the best. As we seek to know ourselves we make strangers as we go, each one a pilgrim embraced in another feckless devotion. Your laugh echoes in my imagination of it, ricochets off the moments we left entombed in misconception, possibilities run slick with a pale rush of menses that carried only the nutrient of a rich emptiness.

Forgive me my footless missteps. Excuse the paradox that rocked your spine before settling somewhere outside my hips. Pardon all that remains yet unpardonable and set yourself a place at the table of true forgiveness where bread breaks evenly, wine seldom stains the cloth, knives pierce cleanly through the meat, manners rest heavy and weary against all we leave half-eaten, all that remains unfinished.

Joseph Gallo
March 14, 2009