I text you when I am down or afraid
I ask "What are you doing?" or "How are you?" to set my mind at ease
Because knowing you exist is soothing in itself

But you've stopped responding

The lifeline-
Cut and abandoned
I still ask how your days is
But you don't answer

Because you've stopped trying

When did I become a second thought to you?
I always put you first
I assumed you did the same
I thought I'd at least be a second thought
Perhaps a third?
Or maybe not
Perhaps you do not think of me as I think of you

Or was it that you never did?

I know you think
I’m counting down the days
But I’m just trying to make
The days count.

People tell me
45 is so young,
Why would I want to believe
I’ll be gone by then?

I say
It has taken me 18 years
To get where I am.

I’m afraid
Of what will happen
After 18 more.

the lawns are on pause as the light lathers
a hemisphere of manicured magnolias
and apparitions.
some joy is slain, and yet
the decals of Spring Guinivere
as naked as pollen in a breeze
of mirage. intermittent.
like a long day of extraordinary things
that didn’t happen
until you looked.