In keeping with tradition, stranger,
we will walk past one another and
not say a word.

I’ll glance nervously at converse on the
weedy walk; you’ll distract yourself
a nearby bird.

I’ll never know how you’ll cry alone
between linens tonight because you
realized you feel nothing.

You’ll never know how I pacify myself
with myths and lies just to keep
my composition.

We’ll both be lonely and never know
why. We both will always ache for
something we can’t name.