when i write
i am reaching out for you
(to you)
the belief (hope) that you are out there
that i have seen you
and you have seen
me
there is a longing here
and i have no words for it
and most days,
i can ignore it
but some days
there are no poems
there is only the fire
the longing left behind
the fingerprints of wind on my face
maybe one day
the longing
will move into someone else’s heart
put a ‘for sale’ sign in mine