“If I happen to be in the neighborhood….”

You sit at the end of the bed
tilting your head towards her

like the moon tilting toward
the Western horizon, unaware

like an abandoned god that
is about to go beyond

hearing -and you have gone
beyond hearing, listening

for her heart, listening
for the distant light

-ning that always follows her acts
of sudden arrival. You lean

into the door way, your
mouth slightly open, lips

dry, the corners stuck
together with an atheist’s

prayers – run your hand
across your bare chest;

rattling cage
filled with the clamor

of all those migrating birds –

the presentiments of her
myriad departures.

You try to stay awake; because
you know, she has a way of closing

a door without making a sound.

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