No. 1
there is a pane of glass
which now occupies the air between us
an indifferent arrow has flown through it
leaving a web of cracks
for which I am trapped
reaching for you
No. 2
the light you bend reaches across room
the same distance travels your voice
it makes me a ghost not to touch you with all that I am
exhaling wanting in your direction
as stars are brought down over head
by the weight of unfulfilled wishes
No. 3
victim to a whisper
pious to an echo
tomorrow I'll be swallowed
I didn't even need a name
lost and unwanted things are entitled
to each other so long as they don't hide
no. 4
it's an open hand
it's a broken window
it's a perpetually naive sky
it's off beat but we're out of line
and I'm waiting for you
one hundred percent of the time
no. 5
out of context
misshapened in parallax
past my expiration date
but you looked at me in a way that dared both of us to exist
when all this is dust
the loudest we'll ever get to be is a secret
"It was not my intention to make such a production of the emptiness between us." - Buddy Wakefield, Hurling Crowbirds at Mockingbars