Notice how the wind finds its way into your warmest hat.
There’s always some anniversary that loses strength
the more time expands around it.
Whenever you come back from the dead,
there’s a big brouhaha.
Sometimes I can’t write for days.
Whenever I remember what you never,
you dismiss my words like gnats.
I register your regrets,
the ones that say I’ve given away too much
of what made you
you. Here,
let me pour you some coffee.
Let me put your hearing aids in—
blue in the left, red in the right.
Let me pull your socks on
over your calloused and broken toes.
Even in empty space, time and space still exist.
Watch the walls, within which your dead live.
Watch the doors and wheels, for they may crack your bones.
Today, the wind soughs the clouds away, shakes out its blue answers.
It knows that this will continue without us under it.
