on waking alone in the nightit is four in the morning.More Like This
with my eyes closed i could be a child
tonguing the space left
by a missing tooth, probing,
some loss - the slow, nagging drip
of that open wound.
in this dark i can't see
my palm as it rises there
like a specter, the unfurling
of the hand like lips, the spaces
between fingers as they search again
for some missing thing. these are
the real wounds.
i am not a child
anymore: there are worse things
to have lost