You came by yourself but you left in a train.
Following close to whatever is in front of you.
The rails lay in their beds from Boston to Maine. 

And they trick themselves...
they dream about waking up. So we fold like paper.
Into the desk's top drawer, something I was writing. Into 
a tunnel's dark mouth, boxes have disappeared.

But we laughed out loud for each one we never opened. So 
now the Poets can guess at what we might have had - for 
all that loveliness my page is still just snow. 
So I follow your footprints, fill buckets with tears. And 

Now you say that you're sick, but I think 
you're just bored of my jumbled words so inarticulate. 
But you told me one time we were two twisted vines, green 
and inseparable.

But that sturdy of a weave just isn't possible. So I will 
change my name, mm-hmm. 
You can pretend you never knew me and we'll fill up our 
floors with the discarded clothes,a skirt pulled from 
under my bed, something I loved on you. 
Can you tell by my face? 'Cause I think that it shows. It 
is confusing here, it feels like I'm in a fog.