This whole city still such a stranger to me is so full of you. The starts and stops of three oh one beat with the charge of your blood in my veins. The vanilla steepled church at Jefferson, the raspberry mottled raptor on Bearrs are pits along the curve of your jaw beneath my tongue. The entire length of seven five north and south is the bend of your head to kiss the blue crook of my arm. That this This place This heavy green water land of pink and white of sand and storm, teetering and tippling and toppling into the sea should be Us should be We as Texas never was as Tennessee could never be Yes I hear you I try not to But I do I hear you asking in the sun in the wind in the panting of the little dog ever at my side, How are you? Where are you? Are you? No. No answer. No. No answer. No. Never again. c.sdmrogers 24 march 2020