outstretched    hand your hand

 grasping    reminding

 reciting    the parts of

you like a litany to me

[everything that I can still remember]

singing your life like a

prayer

 staccato

 pestilence petulence

precision

lost among the

             waves of time

this time.

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I don’t have a poem for you

you don’t feel volatile

I am sputtering like a flame someone left too close to

            an open window

but you are not the chilly night air

you are not the frayed wick

I still haven’t figured out what you are

you are like deja vu with pretty eyes

seeing a splintering of a thousand potential futures

they all exist because none of them exist ...

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