Thinking

This quiet this
kind of time 
when I alone 
seep and steep
seeing and seemingly 
stewing far away 
though very near 
to you you
know and ask 
where’d you go 
knowing where there
you can’t come 
but curious you 
are nonetheless knowing 
too that such
a place offers 
no postcards of
which to send
just me when 
I come back