you leave

...
you leave me.

I'm here you're there, too far to hear,
to hear your curls.
Nor your shoulder with freckles.

I suppose it's time. I never left.

Transparency was clouded.

Now such clutter surrounds what I think is empty
like seeing though ice,
light and darks
but no composition enough to recognize
when you left.
...


..

early

...

that dark damp

presents with a low, water-dense fog

which will, lifeless, hang limp later,

things are damp; waterlogged in high pressure, even in low precipitation.

a back field, concrete hard, inhales as the damp seeps lower, topsoil deep.

short, stiff, mowed grass blades, platinum wet, wake their chlorophyll for day, dark though it is.

that's when soaked songbirds think about seed left behind,

early day grogginess notwithstanding.
...

You really think you are alone, but you're not.

...
You know the words even if your argument condradicts:

"...there is nothing new under the sun."

 Ecclesiastes 1:9-14.

How isolated we are sitting cross-legged under the hot Spring sun while birds dart by, suspicious of us, of an unknown thing on the ground, suspect, with flapping bright pages open in our lap.

Too bright to read, too dense to break through the next door wall.
Silent soundproofing fills the air.
Don't say it.


No one else says it, so don't you say it. 
No one sits despairing but talking.
Because they would have told me...
...I despair like you do.


Angels answer my cell phone.
We despair, too.
We have.
We will.
With you.

We are despairing in groups together, holding hands while birds battle their foes, yet build nests with long strings of horse hair from a tail beaten and twisted in a windy pasture until it flew to my hand and I to the yard and then to the bird.

...

do you wonder,

...like I wonder?

Wonderings burrow in like hibernating chipmunks. 

They'd zipped here and there in the meadow, entertaining watchers. 

Perked up to listen, then laid low to hide. 

Prey searching for seeds while predators watch for their little meaty selves.

Cold's demands push prey to bury; bury themselves down deep in the dark white ground.

Like this, wonder sets in to infection.

Beginning as quick looks,

ending burrowed in 

as a deep redwood splinter stuck half way under a fingernail.

Obsess if you'd like.

When the splinter emerges;

Because it will.

it leaves its red wounded mark from entrance to exit with no timetable for man or woman.

Not personal, just microbiology.

White blood cells work endlessly to pull away dead, dying cells.

...

waiting and forgetting

that's what I'm doing.

...
wait for the end of the week...yay, it's Friday!

wait for payday (and forget to p/u the receipt)

forget people on my list.

forget which of the offspring do not like coconut, do not like crab.

forget my favorite song before the Beatles, although it may have been Rawhide.

wait for love, wait for peace.

I'm waiting and I hope I never forget how

...