too late
At 12:45, you're too late.
What I suggest you do now, my friend, is blow the smoke off the water.
Examine your face closely in the broken mirror.
Look for the image of a lost soul,
that thing that you fear.
“Are we there yet?” she asked as the bus pulled over and the driver shut the engine off.
“No,” I told her as I stroked her hair, her head resting in my lap.
But we weren't on the bus, and I was a thousand miles from anyone,
locked away in the insane rooms of my mental attic, making
notches in the wall and yelling at ghosts.
I was too late.
~
2002