They say it can’t be,

but it is, perfect.

What they don’t know

is that clocks

circle the drain

like pasta water,

unasked questions

we both know

answers for. After

some time we

actually did become

psychic—I know

another life flickers

somewhere in your

mind, yet you come

home to guess at

The Price Is Right.

It says I have

seen what God does

and the endoscopy,

and I could not

find another crevice

through which to

love you—whatever

hasn’t been said

is whispered

over and again

as we hang

in the blackness

of the in-between

dotted with blue,

white, and red giants.

————————————–

Sandra Marchetti called us from Lisle, IL.

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