What I mean is that you gave me how to look
at the forest. What I mean is that we could
walk a trail silent, and on a night like this you’d
say “shut up,” and I’d listen to lightning cook
the ozone above. What I mean is you taught
me love, almost. You taught me to trust,
almost. You taught me what it meant to almost
care right up to the point of wanting to fight.
What I mean is that I was never your 
favorite, never let off the hook, never 
expected life to be fair. What I mean
is that I can listen to tonight’s storm
and forget you. What I mean is I’m aware
of that crackling beauty you could never see.