unknown poem

Everything was played
I’ve played all the 
routines
Life is a stranger I 
know so well 
I know all the jokes
way before they’re told 
My timing isn’t off
It’s gone 
It’s all been played before
All that’s there now is 
a sense of having known 
and a tablespoon of 
compassion 
Come see me on Tuesdays 
at seven 
I’ll be on the rooftop 
practicing the moves
I’ll be in the garage 
rehearsing an escape 
Working on my lines 
Repeating gestures 
We’ll pass in the street
We’ll pass in the hallway 
You’ll tell me “things are okay” 
and I’ll nod 
“Things are okay with me too” 
I’ll say or think or shrug 
I’ve seen the movies 
Don’t worry it’s almost over 
That’s what they tell me 
as they toss their nickels
which I pick up and build 
a future with 
I loved once and now 
I love that love

          There will be a sunrise
          There will 
          I tell myself 
Marching down the lane 
to undefined colors 
fading into expected 
encounters 
	 There will be a waking
	 I abjure myself 

There are things you 
cannot say 
Sadness breaks its victory 
scar on the heart, in the end, 
in each beginning, in every again