What I WIll Never Tell You

You are impossible.

I have turned you every which way,

held you up to the light again and again.

But you are a mirrored prism

that no spark will go through.

I have filled pages with you and stared

cross-eyed and mute

before the code I could not break;

driven with you without you countless miles,

talked you out in dashboard confessions,

shouted your name with the windows down

so you might escape me.

(Just go.)

You are the lion I never saw coming,

the train I did not hear,

the thing I loved but did not want to.

And in my heart,

small and dusty as an old perfume bottle,

you are a lovely paper ship.

To my death I will wonder

how you got there.