Some days you sit upon the shelf It should be obvious and yet I place color into every preview You communicate without saying a word I've become a directory of Unborn romances My index lists every collection of new second chances Forbidden thoughts Unspoken swelling Misremembering Trying to remember Trying to resurrect an old conversation We walked around and around a bending path in the wood If he forgot what was said why then do I trust that I've misunderstood Some days I see you on the shelf And other days the same reader returns to you so I go mute But I dream of the fire flickering to your back And the glow against your face makes me Wonder