one poem
in a quiet room
beneath an indifferent sky

the empty fields that define
the season of loss

these are only words
diane
and you are only a stranger i
pretend to know

it’s the lack of sound
that frightens me

the wind maybe
or a distant siren
or the kitten curled up and purring gently
on the edge of the desk

my son’s toys
without his tiny perfect hands
to move them

and it’s been four days now since
the planes stopped flying

since my fingers felt the need
to crawl across
a blank sheet of paper
and do you notice that the
clocks haven’t stopped?

do you believe

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