If I don’t reply
It’s not because I don’t want to
Or rather, its not because I didn’t ever
want to
It’s that somehow the want got lost
Shuffled and resorted amidst other
Emails other questions (other complete
Lacks of questions other asking
Without asking which is the worst
And least pleasant to reply to of all)
That now, when I look back
Through the white glare of a snow storm
I find I cannot see at all the time
Or space for getting back to you
I cannot see my hand in front of my face.
It is cold and the starred list
(or fist?) casts shapes
Like explorers in the mist. Odd shadows
That brim and glow
Like knives along the shower-curtain
Unanswered, droplet-speckled, immanent.
Unanswered, and yes there was
A time when I knew what it was I had to say
Because what you said was not unimportant
Perhaps it was too important
And caused my mind to stray
It is not that I read it and did not think
It is just that something happened
A bird flew across the window
And I had not seen a bird for a while
So I am sorry
(Though even this remorse
Will elude me too before long.)
There used to be something
Some things even in the space
Beyond my knuckles
Now there is only numbness
And the dull burn of fading bulb glow
That makes eyes remember their sockets.
