safe in the dead calm of mediocrity
i try to imagine where it is you are
and can’t
or rather i can
but only as vague impressionist smears
of rock sand mud
rain bucketing from a sky larded with lethality
cell walls damp with blood
this is not how i want to think of you
the phone rings with robotic offers of nothing i want
mail brings the tawdry lure of commerce
and reminders of what i owe
you’ve paid for all you owe and more
yet there is no word
i never hear your voice
(hello dearest)
i listen to all the songs that stop my breath
(always)
(oh darling be home soon)
(almost there)
almost
autumn’s arrived but you haven’t
we’ve missed spring
summer
and winter waits to devour what’s left
you are the great secret
in my sleeping
waking
breathing
my reason for rising to see another day
and people wonder why i leave the room
abrupt
tightlipped
the tears belong to us only
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Red Rover Magazine 