Letting the Dog Lie

I haven’t seen you in 20 years.
Never do I think of you,
until someone dies
or likes your wife’s profile pic
on Facebook.

I can’t find you in space
and your face barely reaches
the forefront of my memory.

Still, I want to see drawn lines,
soft sections, and gray beginnings
on your being.

I want to know that time
tethered you to its pole, too,
and had a few go-arounds.

I want proof that you weren’t
a figment of my nightmare,
a demon in my hell.

A catalyst for my crazy?
Maybe.  One of many, any-
way.  It’s best I don’t look back.

So, please stay where you are,
fast asleep.

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