It’s evening now and I sit thinking of diners
and please comes that I should’ve responded to.
A phone call the other night ended with smoke on each line
and a voice telling me that I would never know what it meant to love
Then silence - a dial tone - and a quiet
walk in the night, wondering if everyone knew me
better than I know myself.
This is a poem about a lot of things, but mostly it’s a poem about
how words get lost so easily between two - how
stories can be built out of nothing, filling the space
between a last kiss and today’s nothing
like an eighth sea.
