If you were to melt,
you’d pour into the cracks of the world –
luminous tentacles spreading to light
a thousand paths to your core –
But fuck metaphors. I’m mad at you.
I’m on my third cup of coffee
on this low-cloud day
in my year of no travel,
watching my neighbors
spit sunflower seeds on the sidewalk.
I worry about the stray kittens –
not even two months old, I’d say –
the weather’s been really bad
and the drivers are reckless.
What about you?
I can’t tell you how many times
I mistook you for someone else.
A running gag by now how careless I was.
How careless they were.
and how mute – Like you.
Hey, why don’t you send me a photo –
say, one of you having coffee on a balcony,
in black and white
An old building is visible in the background,
with x’s over the windows.
Your clothes are fashionably wrinkled.
Your hair is in your face
and you’re looking away from the camera.
You could be anyone.
That’s just like you.