I picked up a collection of your poetry
and it didn't take all night to read
You talk to yourself a lot.
I am now empty more so for knowing
how empty you tell yourself you are.

there is a fifteen minute cab ride
or a 45 minute bus ride
that makes the most distance of this city
but I would walk to you at any hour.
Regardless of any change
I may carry in my pockets,
there will always be an open hand
for you if you would take it

Somewhere my mother shares her bed with nobody
after being twice robbed of her covers
by the same man
she has never returned to that softness.

somewhere else my father sleeps with himself
and cries for having held on for so long

There is a grace we don't allow ourselves for letting go.
you need not be in love to hurt,
you need not forgive to be alone.

I think you are everything I reach for,
though for fear my throat is empty of your echoes
I read your poetry
and some nights I ride the bus home
in the other direction.