Left Behind

Captured by your isolation in that damned Sunday light. Arizona mountains sinking under heavy purples, making it hard not to weep for all that is lonely. Your cat hiding under the sink for hours; my guitar against a naked wall; you in that apartment, huge, empty, gray; ceiling so high the moments floated away never to come back down, never to be recaptured.

You waved goodbye standing alone on the gravel driveway, engulfed in a cloud of red dust and construction debris, diminished in a rear view mirror. 

I lost sight of you when I turned the corner. Behind me a train kept blowing its horn as if wishing to drown out the sadness I felt the whole time I was with you in Flagstaff.

Adrián Boutureira
Arizona, 1997