letter

the first news of you i've had in years: i hear she's sad.

i hear the words the way you hear a foreign language.

after some thinking i still can't make it out. - it's hard to think of you as something that exists somewhere.__ i didn't know if you'd made it out of the wreck.
(i knew one of us had to be a ghost i just hadn't thought it might be me)

what do i know?, there are no words for the distance between us.
even the closeness, when it was there, i had trouble describing.

it feels like someone's returned a goodbye to me , __maybe my bones knew it all along,
but i feel heavier with it now ,

maybe they're telling you the same thing about me: the sun will be up in an hour i live off pills and distraction- maybe i don't know i'm sad anymore than i know you are.

all the fantasies we indulged , and sold each other out for , something about your sadness bothers me.
but i lose hold of that string too, like all those others -

time, memory, _motions in the dark.

you have of me an ocean's worth of silence , you took it along with my well wishes
and you still have both.
and all the sad dictionaries i filled

before i got so lost it became home.