Xibalba

Remember me, if you will,
Like an open window on an August drive west,
Or the inveterate boy stamping his feet,
Never wanting the afternoon nap.
Maybe as the 9 pm arrival to the 7 pm party,
As the empty gaze from the back of the room,
Or the arms on your shoulders under July fire,
With all of the intensity of the blue sky flowers above.
Carpet-faced, bored, trapped in front of screens,
Wild-eyed knave so pleased to meet you,
As the smell of the shirt as you draw it down,
Like your favorite looking book you never read.
The last cigarette lighter tucked in your pocket,
The invisible friend that only you believe in,
The pile of papers that never get filed,
The prayer you say out loud but don't mean.
The hanging map,
The night stand,
The second album,
The worst,
The best,
The so-so, but not that great.
Poet
Architect
Philosopher
Artist
King
Prince
Pauper
Strong
Scared
Scarred,
Full of hope
Full of shit
The jester
The judge
The beginning
The end.

Remember me, as you will,
With all of the brightness of your dreams.