He said, “Thanks for the prayers,”
the man who won’t,
and doesn’t believe I should,
waste such time talking to the thin air
in my free or otherwise spent time.
He was in trial and I still believe,
neither or both of which
may have drawn us together
or are keeping us apart.
I prayed as I always do,
every morning in my mind
and every morning still far out of my life,
for a man mixed-up, moving forward.
I dream towards you,
towards me, towards making us.
Hopelessly, in fantasy.
(It’s all just poetry.)