Watching baby birds tremble as they first get their bearings
I am reminded of what it was to miss
I use the time between trains to see what shoes strangers like.
Lately every walk home from the bars becomes a Kramer entrance to the empty flat.
Stumble towards the sink. Face to mirror face, practice, without sarcasm this time,
"I've heard she's a very nice girl."
It has been months since I've needed to check the mail box.
The poems I wrote about you weren't the best poems I've written.
They were the saddest.
Monday, November 21, 2011
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