sometimes I miss you, when you’re gone and I’m grasping at life

sometimes the telephone wires are less of a friend than you would believe

and the shadows on the winter walls make me think of still-born Christmas carolers, gone away

behind the sheetrock where it’s two degrees less cold.


sometimes I wish I could slip back there with them—

one collective memory of the way life was, when it was applicable;

between worlds

where the creak of a board, flutter of a curtain could mean anything,

but these four verbs:

leaving, taking, going, forever

mean nothing and nothing at all,



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