perilous conversations

     

the mornings in which i can’t wake up
are the hours i dream about you

existing
                                         out there –

in a house by
the sea

           skimming the line
                between
loneliness
and solitude.


you
possess
a silence

even when
talking to yourself –

writing
                singing
carrying on
entire
conversations.

but
in a secret language
there is no laughter to fill
                     the spaces.

lying still
         in the blue-gray dawn
you move in my heart.




the afternoons
in which i can’t
wake up

are the stretches when i
           watch sunlight
or stormclouds
           flash and sparkle
implacably

and
wonder
      about

everything between us
      unsaid.

stilted by concern –

the
lines that
                criss-cross

the
desired
weight of words

      a roadmap of
intimacy

                     on a page

           unsent




the evenings in which i can’t wake up
are the times when i want to touch you –

                skin warm and breathing –

and tell you not to wait
to be saved.

your world will be quiet
no matter who you people it with

what are you waiting for?
           can it be me

of course not.

pencils rattle accusingly
           across the floor –

yellow
      Ticonderoga
caught in a stray breeze

i retaliate with a pillow
      and roll over

there is nothing
to say.




until
midnight when
my fingers remember your number
in the darkness

           i blame fate
      or inertia
or inevitability

and balance the phone on my
      left cheek

closing my eyes through
      4 rings
a click
              and your waiting silence

      at my soft hello

           you are saying:
i hate all these neverminds
                          you keep sending me

      i pause
and reply:
sometimes it’s enough just to hear your voice