The Willing Prisoner

The thing is, it all reminds me of you,
every horizon,
cloud
and shoreline,

Every dawn.
Every birdsong in the morning
and warm sun in the day.

The strange funky music I listen to
as I drive.
The bacon I eat and you don’t.

All of it.

I see a child prance in the snow.
An old woman in the hospital
and I feel your presence,

My life has color now,
not sometimes, but each and every day.

It does not matter the color,
it is there,
where too often, there was none.

I think of you in fog.
On the long night-drives home.
When I leap. When I fall.

When you follow my lead.
When you diverge.
When you are beyond the mountains that frame my world,
you are there.

You have become inescapable,
and I,
the willing prisoner.