Don't Be A Stranger

[This is not a poem.  It's a bunch of notes that -- if polished -- could be a poem. :) ]

In an intimate hall
At Warren Wilson College
The students anticipating
David Wilcox' playing.
He stole us away
with what he'd written that day
    "Language of the Heart"
a crumpled letter to his old love
We were captured in his strumming hands

I went to see him every chance that I had.
At McDibbs on thursdays for $3.50
Then he played fridays and saturdays
$4.50, then $5, then $7.50
Then he opened for the Indigo Girls
And I went off to college,
Where I saw him for $12 scalped tickets
in a sold-out show.
Then I moved to San Francisco
Far, far away from home...

At first he sang of newness and hope and life.
Then the loneliness of growing older
Then of love and sex and settling down
Then of his family and his home
Then it came back around again
    to newness and hope and life...

Well, of course I fell in love with him!
Didn't we all in those days?
And got over him like any heartbreak.
And I listened to his songs, like telephone calls
Keeping up with his life and his new wife and his son.
The delicious bittersweetness
Of the friendship of a long-ago love...

And on with my own life
Like old love that's moved away
Got my dream job in the Bay Area
Built the firefall at Burning Man

And found my own true love
Found meanings of my own
In those "settle down" songs...

And I want to call you up, David,
and say, "don't be a stranger!"
I want to catch you up on what I've been up to.

But who am I but a face in the audience?
Singing harmony to your unpublished songs?

This intimacy is only in me.
Forever, you'll never know
my life or my friendship...
I'm nothing more than a stranger...