Friday, March 10, 2017


I am alone with him again. You,
promising, powerful, elsewhere.
I am alone with him
in a room
with no doors. We sit.
The walls quiver

a little. When I put my hand
to the wood I can feel them,
as if the wall were skin and I: on the outside
of an inside-out womb,
and the world: getting ready to be born.
It makes me feel a little better
that there are things I cannot see.