I wonder how these days
I can read an entire book
and nothing - not a single word of it
will call you to mind.
everything used to answer
to your name, love.
I lie in bed,
I stand in line,
I stir sweetness into tea,
all these plain tasks empty me.
once I wrote you the saddest lines.
I kept them near me
-you would laugh if you knew how close.
always – as if paper and ink mattered.
always - as if folded and crumpled in pockets
you made them matter.
it never mattered.
folded in the pages of a book
-one of many on my shelves
I am sure the words are still there.
even they grow faint with time.
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