if the creek don’t rise,
I’ll see you again.
Tho’ you weren’t ever mine to hold,
you held my name,
called it out for strangers to hear-
it didn’t mean much to me then,
but now, as time has passed,
I find that you weren’t lying.
I can feel it most days
even though you’re gone.
It beats in a step next to my stride;
I’ve lost the details and sense that I knew it all;
but the big feeling, the one that you sent
when you shouted my name,
breathes. The diaphragm draws in and out
beating the rhythm of us.
And if the creek don’t rise,
I’ll hear you say my name next to me.
God willin’, I’ll see you again.