missing is honest.
a week ago,
only miles away
we were
untravelable.
—
after cataclysm,
we sat down
across my table
[strategically];
acknowledging
our broken
infrastructure.
having only
been
dismantled
of boredom
and spite,
we decide
to rebuild.
—
climbing down
into the
rubble pit
of us,
two hoarders
sorting through
desolate pieces
kept “just in case
we’ll need this
one day.”
how did we get
this
bad?
—
you asked me if
i could really
leave here
like
“here” was
a pronoun.
our voices,
tools
to craft
the words
we have
been unable
to do
with
our own
bare hands.
“which can
we reuse?
repair?
throw-out?”
we re-wrote
instructions
on how to us.
—
you announced
your leave
of absence
with a space
| |
and
i imagined
filling
it’s blanks.
—
my mind
spilled out
my eyes
about how
the streets
are less
alive in
no possibility
of glimpsing you
drive by
