It’s the vacuum 
the sucking out 
that distresses most
need to breathe 
to loosen tie
and unbutton shirt 
it’s the missing 
not the middle 
for there it
still was yet
harder to find 
pockets of it
also called hope 
but this this
is surely death 

Fresh sheets
and coffee 
am I 
a composer
or lover
are you 
a note
or symphony 
come let
us play 

Zip I do
dash I must 
wheels instead of 
feet I move 
like a robot 
knowing my routine 
dance I can’t 
for these wheels 
know no rhythm 
besides gaily round 

If I 
could look 
beyond you 
I’d see
nothing for 
who can 
look into 
one’s star
and see
very far 

Blue touches black 
touches white bleeding 
brown and gray 
and white such
are the watercolors 
of day here 
splashes speckled that
stand still like 
art in galleries 
doing nothing more 
than representing life 
and the mountains 
of you before 
them turning and
rising as though 
the plates of 
you are born