I don’t live
here anymore

I have these
sleepy imprints
of stacks of books,
blanket party sundays
and an old, gray
doddering dog
following me around
with saucer eyes

at times I felt
the loneliest
I’d ever been,
and learned
to be lonely

at times I felt
the loveliest
I’ve ever been,
and learned
to be lovely

it was my
secret garden
beneath the bridge,
I found myself
within those walls,
laid claim to my full

and though time
has moved me
in other directions,
I still like to take
my faded roses
down off the shelf
and remember

I may not now,
but once upon a time
these beautiful
journeyed bones,
were here