Peculiar how the voice
is first
to trail off,
as the new body
that’s left
vanishes into
and I grasp inside
the ache of it
as it assumes
the silky weight
of the newly drowned.
it is never quite in my hand.
In my palm,
it is the near
weightlessness of a
bird from summer’s
waterless grass.
However, now
it is winter,
and I am standing at this open door
your name as I
listen within it
for mine.
It is waiting to ask, where am I
that I must call out
for you.
I need you to answer
because I do not
the manner in
me and you,
in one way or another,
lost you and
in the very same place.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.