I was wandering 
through the garden 
back behind 
your rocket shed 
the stars were blinkin out in protest of 
the reflection in my lenses, 
a message 
left and anticipated 
with bated breath, my fingers tore 
open the letter that was waiting there, 
waiting on a change 

but nothing will 
and no one's ever 
lived to tell 
the tale. 

these, the night thoughts 
are no haven 
from uncertain 
paths, a proclivity 
to stare out past the rooftops 
and think of all the people 
i'd rather be 
to watch the film unfold 
from under [bad word] 
to see the stills of the thing 
like they were [bad word] 
so simple, and yet connects 

falls away, 
like they were never 
there to stay 

and we 
don't have to say 
those things we really feel 
only get in the way 

The goalie 
never stood a chance 
it slipped right through his hands 
and you were slipping too.