The Last Time

The last time I ran was at Point Reyes where the green earth

slopes down jutting out over the Pacific.

There I ran down to the edge

to the salty wind and spray against my face

and the Sun creating a warmth of Heart unknown before.

The last time I ran he was there watching, laughing

daring me to run faster because he knew it was my last time.

We made love in an old farmhouse where his back

sucked by the drain in the old claw hammer tub

left a purple mark on the backside of his heart.

.

The last time I ran was the first time I felt alive.

In Her with him and Sun and the Ocean’s fine mist that

kept us there . . . together

for a short and passionate time of touch, fire, warmth.

The morning found me staring straight ahead into a fractured future,

where a bit of light shining through gave me courage

so that yes was my response to is your heart willing to be broken?

Even then I knew the broken place is where healing begins.

Photo: Christina Satalova at Unsplash

Poem: The Last Time, 1997