11 September 2013

Epistle 3

Play of light on the kitchen table
stitches the kitchen table to another fabric of time,
which occurs simultaneously,

such kitchen table I am sitting at with you
more handling cold lingerings from breakfast than eating.

I stare out the window at the sea
and am all too eager to reassure you
when you ask me what's wrong

that nothing is wrong, love,

that I am wondering what life is like at a kitchen table
without you there

that I think it must also be inescapably wonderful

because this kitchen table exists somewhere
connected to all other tables without you

by the tidal light which plays upon it.



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