the alarm clock that always sits
by her bedside, reminder of that time:
a hundred clocks chiming at once,
even those never wound.
puppy toenails on the tile,
phantoms in the daytime,
slow raps on the bathroom door,
"is that you?"
"i'm out here."
out there, beyond but here.
"we don't have to make room for him;
he's with us here all the time anyway."
what are they wearing? mama's
wearing gold, papa silver
shoes, yes, but if they're blue
the answer is no.
river, sea, and land
channels, conduits of that
man, that rich soul.
every time i see those books,
i swear i feel him...