everything is coming later
like rain in april
and robins after the snow,
promises we made without speaking
yet everybody seems to know

so someone told me you liked me

(you liked me,
someone told me)

but I learned that first when I let you down
and you didn’t reach to take my hand

now everything is coming later
like blooms in early may,
a shakespearean fall from grace
turned to private victories
in a public place

so someone asked me to stay—
but if I stayed, you said,
you’d hold me,
which you weren’t sure
I would understand