if we are never

every time i have words for you,

i throw them into a poem.

 

they’re safer here,

and grounded.

 

i can feel you right here

with me:

 

in the shelves, in the recipe-sheaves,

between the leaves:

 

pressed tight

and true.

 

even if we are never

together,

 

we are, somehow.

i don’t under-stand it;

 

but i honor it and love it

and wait for it to change

 

me, every

time.

 

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