Daisies

I popped a tire,
on the way down
the train tracks,
that run in front of
the place my heart is home.
I was searching for you,
or at least some trace,
but I knew there was nothing;
no part of you there.
I ditched the bike
in the middle of a field,
and walked the rest of the way--
free as a sparrow,
heavy as stones.
I found a suitable tree,
that reminded me of you,
and nailed my poetry
to it's trunk.
I left you a message,
somewhere in the trees,
that you'll never find,
because though I go
to that place all alone,
I know you never will.

I picked some daisies,
and went home.