Rooftops and Fields


Ray, I think of you now

with your lover

out of country,

when I light my cigarette,

and how we smoked during conversations

of all the fags in literature,

and how it seemed right that night

to drink to Canada.

Now, in my mind,

all of your conversations with him

will be adorned with

new anticipations and beginnings.


You are part of all those things

taken place in youth

that can no longer be spoken of

for fear of tarnish.

After all of the days and countless nights of watching time

play mysterious tunes upon the lengths of your limbs

you continued to treat all of the small town novelties

like the static characters that they are,

and will be.


So I hope that you are safe;

sleeping inside a million memories

of rooftops and fields

with your ancient gin wealth,

and your arms

holding all of those orange lilies

fresh from damp closets

without strain

and on your island

filled with your sketches,

and your books,

I hope that you still welcome the light

that sheds the hair of the sun

on your scars, unnoticed,

and that you still deem loneliness a myth,

meant only for the simple.


Liz Foster



Author: circadianrefrain

Female. 26. Writer/Artist

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