to make amends to the world,
to voices in the wind
denied by closed windows,
to ghosts old and new
that pick and fret at loose threads,
to all the colors we never chose
to use, to crumbs forgotten
—discarded, not swept up
that fell between the cracks
to disappear but never really left,
to things we should have thought
or said but never did or
touches we ought to have spent?
and now i look at the curve of your back
and how light lines your shoulder
but doesn’t reach your spine
so much shadow
in a deafening silence
spanning the gap between us
and wonder
where do we start?
