01 April, 2009


there is something more, here -
more than the other half of the bed,
than the space next to me on the sofa
at the party I feel uncomfortable at,
bigger than the frying pan
being used to make only
one portion of pancakes

the second space in the toothbrush holder,
room on the bench by the river,
just instances,
of something

heavier than the pile of records
bought with you in mind,
taller than the shelves
to hold all our poetry.

there is something more, here -
and for now, I sit with it
like these mountains
waiting out the weather

dreaming during the day,
because I never do at night

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