“what are we?” she asked

with despair, he replied, ”we’re nothing”

i'm a curator of all that dissipates and evaporates
not only memories of my grandparents, my dad
now my mom
but the flesh tonsillectomy i performed on the rocks
in maine when i was 17
my wife's heartbreaking smile
and "come on down to my boat, baby"
a happy 60s tune no one remembers

i guess
i’ll love you
the way the sun
loves the moon
and you
will love me
the way the grass
loves the trees
perfectly in synch
but just a little too different
to ever truly
be.

depression is the friend
that doesn't call you
to tell you they are coming over

depression is the friend
that tells you to have another drink
when you can barely stand