Wednesday

Opening night

Into the size and shape of answers that

I’ll never have

I plunge

I ask the question and live in the realm

Of wondering

Everyday

Where is she

Who the world tosses up on shore

and harshly polishes with all the

moments come and gone

an entire night that lasted only seconds

gulfs waded through

cliffs over the side of which she may have

stupidly looked down

catching herself

When roughly chipped or thrown and landed

Then, all of the sandpaper words

And the mail still comes

Or maybe doesn’t

She waits

But I will always wait

It goes in waves, first a shell,

broken through raw and soft,

Then perhaps a scab forms

But 

Always battered, with fractures

though never quite cracked through

Still

love and hate and such sadness

surge ever closer to the surface

Tonight I bring it all to you