She'd murmur "oh" to know
I'm dialing in the rain.

Muffled receiver to project an
Opus wholly mine. Picture
the murmur, shouldered.
Picture this chord, roaring in yellow tungsten,
Littered to the formless.

Orchard hedge, overrun and hazy.

Murmur—
as flowers in your arms decay.

Long to sleep softer.
Long to sleep softer, thereafter.

Shattered by foggy peaks.

Etched
feather on water's shoulder

her eyes beneath something
cloudy.

On roll these
temperate symbols of
a dreamy landscape.

I abscond from
the phone calls where her
voice reminds me of her.
She's mumbling of the brittleness
of the east Cascades;
memory can't but etch, line to line,
some sore straightliner, wheeled.

I'll still playback what you leave me,
and harbor beneath the arches of ourselves.
Penny for the poor: I never promised to pay
this sum.

Crystalline cold upon asphalt:

Fated.

It melts for me,
I am colder by you,

We do not collide.