on the rain filling my head

The smell of rain is back again.

and if i could bury myself closer to you,

i'd be six feet under, right next to the earthworms.

we are both wishing to know and be known, but dirt

fills my lungs - so i'm left clutching your skeleton -

you'll be gone and i'll be here

I drove home in silence today.

the kind of quiet that sends thunder through the ears,

and tightens limbs with apprehension.

heart wrapped to the wheel: wheel jelly in my hands.

you'll be gone and i'm still driving

When i get home, it'll be - eerily - silent.

i will write no words about you

because writing makes it real;

writing adds another suitcase to your car

and mile to the road between us.

you'll be gone and i'll be stuck