Telluride

Do you tell him everything you told me
as you lie beneath the pine cones, sweating?
Does he count the times you breathe?
Is your arm stretched across his stomach,
naked skin against your hand,
as you smoke one thousand cigarettes
and forget me once again?

Do you reach your hand below your navel?
Do you feel familiar scars?
Some are heavier than others
from Bowry Street and bars
to first snows in Asheville,
getting groceries in the cold
and a hundred Camel Lights between here and Colorado.

You were always mine.
It's been such a long time.
I've kept you waiting.

Late at night I hear you crying.
You know that I don't sleep.
I'm pacing quietly above you,
and I'm drying off your cheek.
You might think that you don't know me,
but you haven't kept me waiting.
You always were my daughter even when you said you hated me.
The clock, it ticks in circles,
it stays in perfect time.
I've counted every single hair.
You were always mine.

Farther than my eyes could see,
farther than my feet could carry me,
farther than my arms could reach.
Oh, God, am I so weak?