Small Sacrifices

I wish you had returned my anger,
even in the same crumpled green envelope,
even with a ‘postage due’ stamp
you expected me to pay.

given any sign
that you are a plausible combination
and not some pedestrian god
under whose coat I’ve stumbled.

But now I’m one
defiant table away from this
tightly wound ribbon
of people, who,

no matter how I rearrange them
in my head,
don’t breathe like you.

My only window is too steam-blurred.
Couldn’t see the street
if I wanted to
couldn’t look for you looking for me.

It might be better that way
but in forty more of these faces
I’ll be heading back to you.
I hope I find you

straddling the road,
arms branching towards a hidden sun
as you call for me

in the hoarsely frantic voice of a man
who does not want to change.