I look for you everywhere and determine
you are not at this table, not in the garden
picking cucumbers, not nesting in your chair
not hanging up snowmen and laying out cotton
as snow on the tables, skaters poised
on the flat mirrors.
I look for you in my closet:
maybe an old game of hide-and-seek
where we never found each other.
But these days I die a little every day.
I’m closer to heaven
than anyone should be.

01/05/2007

Posted on 01/05/2007
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