How hopeful is the month of May
If only for its name
Which implies the possible
Denies the impossible
All while leaning toward plausible
With every day
Except this one is one year removed
From that first move forward
Knocking at a new door
Words were few, and we were two
Briefly
In probably should've been call "Mayn't"
But I would wait
I said I would wait
So I will wait
How awful was that month of June then
You said you'd write soon and
I waited by the mailbox
For more small talks
Of lakes and floating docks
And things as kids
We shared separately under the same moon
But I wrote you a million words
And folded them in thirds
Stuffed in envelopes of longing
But I guess I was just wrong in
Thinking you'd write back
Anytime or soon
So I would wait
Like I said I would wait
July and August wait
September, October wait
But your letters never came
No letters for me, never came
No letters for me, never came
No letters for me, never came
How hopeless is this month of
November...
