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
