i found the cover of a book
we read on a canoe on a pond
in the middle of vermont.
when it was my turn to read,
you strummed your guitar
and simply smiled at me.
the sun began to fall to the tips
of the pine trees.

i found the cover of a book
we read on a canoe, just the cover,
stuck between a bit of good poetry
and a lot of bad poetry, and this
immense stabbing sensation rifled
through my organs.

i never know when to smile anymore.