I think of you
 bent over unlaced shoes
looking for your name
over a desert of daydreams.
Daily you devour
the distance you become.

“Dead, dead, dead, I’m dead,”
you said, humbled by glasswired windows
and a a world where earth and sky
have suddenly disappeared into thin air.
I watched you like a blindman search
for the fingerprints of a door
and come up empty. For a moment,
your eyes remembered the wholeness
of things before foghorns
evaporated a lifetime in a wink
of sound. Then you shriveled
into darkness, the moon’s
mute eye
like a shadow at dawn.