Lost

You lost me tonight.
Somewhere amid all these sand-filled spaces between
your silences and your non-committal laughter
you lost me, and you haven't noticed yet;
you're too busy travelling.
So I lie here tonight and
I'll keep lying, very still,
and tomorrow, when you see the vultures
circling my body and the dawning sun
brings the sickening smell of singed flesh to your nostrils,
you will weep for me.

Or maybe not weep - this is not like you.
No, it will be worse than weeping. You will wear
the mourning hood of pride and the veil of compassion,
both too big for you.
They will make your eyes red and your breath yellow.
You will walk on, and try to strengthen your mind against mirages
(for I know you learn from experience)
and you will long for the horizon, where you can turn
and not see me.

You lost me tonight. I lost myself,
and a good thing too.
I might have followed you forever
had you not lost me.
Had you not lost me, I would have been content
to cling to your shadow by day and watch you
sleeping in the dark.
I would never have seen the sky from this angle, the dawning
realization appearing through feathered wings:
There is freedom to be found in being lost.