in morning’s coral light
truth has interesting packaging
she doesn’t point to destiny
claims no more promises
than yesterday

I still search for
your unabbreviated breath
moist on my shoulder
and am met by
my phone-alarm in its stead

a year of origami ballerinas
waiting to be unfolded to a
certain wrinkled flatness
stories to be written on
those pages so openly blank

my sallow face awakened
by my coarse finger’s rub
my mind tries to trick me
that you’re there, just down the hall
brushing and humming… safe

weary hands grasp the
moisture from the air
draw shallow gulps into my lungs
not this time either
holding myself softly

you said I was amazing
in the clear voice

so far away from now

© Tom Watters  9/10/07