any
pictures
of us
lately?
I saw one behind some
dusty book tops
tethered lightly by
old gossamer,
on a faraway shelf,
hidden from every eye;
even the wind
couldn’t find it through
the cracked window.
That picture
confined
and held a moment
in the four corners
of a frame
of three people on a ferry,
the chopping waves cleaving us
apart; no, fastening us.
You
Me
A baby…
We have two of those now.
But where are
You?
And here am I.
Waiting in the picture
Looking out into
An empty room.
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