An Awaited Guest

They asked me was I lonely,

I said lonely meant empty:

my life was full.

They smiled – “you’ll find love”,

I said yes,

or that love was a silly word,

or best, nothing at all.

I hated those parties,

 

my coupled friends

with their prescriptive desires –

these absurd things they made me want,

like phantom limbs – –

feelings yet unborn,

awaiting some stranger…

…boundless, sure, terrific.

 

And then I ached for it.

 

Some nights I felt jaded

and left

but didn’t go home –

I’d lie in the quiet places

on roofs of cars, listening,

on watch,

finding pulses in the sky.

 

There was I, staring at stars,

transfixed by lights long-faded – tricked

into memory,

 

while in the blank and dark spaces,

those backdrops,

new matters were coming together,

finding form,

becoming specific.

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