SEPARATE DREAMS

The police found him
such as he was
in an abandoned corpse of a car
in hand-me-down jeans
and a look of shock
on the rest of his face.

He had, we learned,
been daring more,
month after month
for a very many.
He would wait
well past dark,
until we all
had found our separate dreams
before he went to follow his.

His diary uncovered
incessant adventures
as he dived into the deep end
searching for sharks.
And he found them
predators with rows of teeth
that chose to gnaw
instead of bite
until eventually
he found a chickenhawk.

It was all there
in a diary
in a room
right next to mine
– his cupboard leaning on our shared wall.
Nothing needed to be decoded.
His words were clear
his eyes wide
as he described the world he wanted.

And even
we were blind – no.
We were blindered
by our own hands
refusing to see
what his classmates saw
what the night witnessed
what his enemies hated him for.

He could have told us.
He should have told us,
though we were glad to ignore his truth.
So long as I didn’t have to be told,
I was fine.
But if I’d know,
he might still be next door,
in his room.
He could still be writing in his journal,
sharing secrets we refused to hear.