I can't sleep when you're not here
and you haven't been gone that long
How is it that I've grown so used to you
both of us used up in our days
I wriggle with the antennae
to project a clearer picture
all lines, corrugated pixels, snow
stand up to greet me where there is no rain
your breathing is an elixir
I am drunk on the void and still cannot sleep
I am too old to still fear the dark
all lights on, too bright, but it's safe now
I fumble on the couch so as not to note your side empty
lurking there behind me, bed rolled up and away
my eyes burn when I blink, when so easily before
I could sleep because you were sleeping
I have to wear myself down now, grinding
that laughing recognition of what is not there
and what is not rest in the face of better sense
when my senses detect all the wrong things:
your shoes in my closet, your stack of books, waiting
and all those pithy wonderings, if you are there somewhere
wishing you could be here too...
make your way home, for as long as this is your home
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