So I finished this version of the poem. You can be the first to read it. Still needs some work (especially the fraked up structure), but that's what the workshop is for, right? Please enjoy.

Dear Friend

Leave me out with the waste
This is not what I do
It’s the wrong kind of place
to be thinking of you
- Damien Rice, “9 Crimes”

Today I sat in the same coffee place
we haunted years ago. The same cold,
plastic seats, and sweet smelling countertops.

I asked for what I used to love, but I can’t handle
its refined sweetness, so I have learned
to consume small portions to temper the ache.

The sun flirts with the clouds and the wind skates across my skin.

Today I sat on that old and weary bench where we watched the birds
collect, in secret. Their thoughts were lost to me,
but their voices made an accidental song.

Today I walked up the steps to the library-the one with the landing
perfect for dancing. Only no one was dancing
and I was weary from the climb.

My energy fades like the blue of your favorite sweater.

I walked along the river today and thought it would be
a good day for paper boats. Maybe this time they would survive
the plunge and not be lost in the current.

Today the trees whispered your name and it made me
smile. Today I watched an old man smile
and wondered what they said to him.

The days slip through my fingers like the smoothest silk.

My day was filled with wonders,
friend. I hope your day was grace and
the stars in the night’s sky give you hope
of infinite beauty in the infinite darkness.
                       Farewell.