The Absence of Wavelength

30 Years

I might share a poem with you
         feeling like
I shoved it in your face
You might say, it's nice
When did you write it?
Thirty years ago
But, you look as though
you thought
I wrote it this morning
in response to something
         the way I always respond
And, I learn
from our little interactions
you don't know me
like you say

I tell the same stories
         until they're cliche
But, what you know
is what you chose to see
         hidden between those lines
         in your reality --
fiction imposed on me
of original glances
without deeper introspect
I desire, maybe
         don't deserve
from one as discerning as you

But, I'm watching
         learning how you observe
knee-jerk reactions
you've culled
from one so unwitting --
realize, you changed me
And yet,
I'm the same
after thirty years
         but, not exactly
the person
you envisioned me to be

Because, I'm escaping
on a horizon --
a ghost searching
without you
looking for a man
I was thirty years ago
         once so amazing
want to introduce you to
when I find him

I'll write again
tomorrow and tomorrow
hoping I'll get me right -- that
you'll catch a glimpse
         catch on
so I can begin again anew

Thirty years --
a long time
to be stuck
in that frame
         happy
to smile back for you
         even knowing
I'm not me.