what is something insignificant
that attaches itself easily to whatever
it picks up in the passing wind
maybe a mosquito
i know people like to say their
blood is sweet
they like to think of themselves
as beloved but the truth is
you were only nearby
with a bit of leg to bite down on
they'll fill themselves up with anyone
who gets close enough
i think i'm the same way or at least
i used to be
i could tell you why i tend to feel
so desperate for wholeness
dressed up every morning in my black gown and veil
a hand-me-down rosary wrapped around my knuckles
but the story gets old
the older i get
when i was little i told myself
i'd never be the dad in the sports car
who only listens to oldies
but i've been practicing with the sound of rain
held by the way it always comes down the same
i think i'll stare out the window forever
i think i'll never grow tired of the echo