Write It Down

I walked this land in a poem once.
There was Ozymandias,
toppled in the desert sand,
a monument that had met its end,
as all things should,
when they no longer stand for
what we stand for.

I met you before inside a book,
the boy with the lightning-shaped scar,
crowded into a closet
by ignorant fools
who were scared of magic.

I don’t know a lot of things I should,
like how to change a tire
or ride a bike
or pitch a tent.
I’m not the partner
that you want on “Naked and Afraid.”

But if you want to have a coffee
or grab a beer
or count the stars
or sit and watch a fire,
I will join you.

We can talk about the places we have been,
both the real places
and the places we made real,
in the quiet hours we held books
in our hands and in our hearts.

We can talk about our own hopes and fears,
the things we have seen
that we wished we didn’t,
and the lessons that we learned
along the way.

I will listen to your story
and you can listen to mine.

And maybe,
just maybe,
if you let me,
I will write them down.

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