I wanted to draw about
our walks, my dear
with your favorite pastel paint
but I can't sketch such
tiny steps on concrete,
nor your lean body doing
a joyful polka
by the sidewalk

I tried to sing, too
with a giddy guitar
and my tone-deaf voice
but all the notes I hum
never captured the
light laughs, minute musings
and all those little things
two talking hearts made
only reaching four earlobes

I also, desperately
tried to act and reenact
every detail my forgetful
mind could remember
and failed yet again-
no great a thespian could
ever mimic the subtlety sublime
scenes of Tristan and Isolde
traversing the urban jungles
with nothing but naive love
and worn rubber soles

I tried everything, my dear
I really did
but I made this poem
hoping you would read it
even if we've come
too far apart from
the crossroad
we never expected
to pass,
might it lead me
back to your side