Still loving you,
there was
this electrical thing
somewhere in my chest
when you told me
how you felt,

and I raced home,
already in turmoil,
thinking maybe now
you would come back
and fill
this empty heart.

Later, I sent you
a smoke signal of sorts,
and began
inexorably
to make plans
for how it would play out,

and though I knew better
it didn't matter,
such things happen
sometimes
of their own volition.

The next day, late
you left me a message
something about
penciling me in
for a talk
maybe next week.

Then of course
that never happened,
just like before,
and before that, too.

So, like a little kid
who ain't too smart
I suck it up again
breathing deep
and stupid
as if reading
the instructions
on the bottle
to repeat
treatment
as necessary.

There is dharma in all this, of course
standing balanced,
sometimes even looking graceful,
at the top of this pole,
just out of reach,
unless I let go,

an act of faith
I seem unwilling and unable
to undertake.