an old notebook with clumsy attempts
to impress a girl reminded me of her
burst of laughter. and she was gone
before i even finished summoning
my poor teenage soul, buried alive.
if only i knew that someday i would
hear the cry of seagulls over the saltire,
or that half of my life could be denied
with one glance away. and all of this
was fated the very moment i paused
at the sight of her long auburn hair
and when i wrote my first stanza.
hidden pilcrow 