to baltimore

you were no detour, no pitstop on the way to better things

jazz, bands in wyman, exchanged near where the herons lurk

where the water sparkled like gemstones cast down past the bridge

no, not that one, the other one, with the graffiti of the, you know the one

stumps remembered as reading spots, pedestals for particular books

coffee and oysters from familiar faces

night in the dome, days down by the stream

springs that hummed with straining new growth, summers that soaked in sunlight (and, once, cicadas)

dying falls, dead winters with their share of snow, and ice encrusting locks and stairs and branches alike

you are hurt, i know, you were hurt long before i came

i am hurt, leaving you

i knew i’d need to eventually, until you grew on me and i forgot eventually in deference of now

so long, friend, stranger, and all those

in between this home and the next