November 1st, 2014

You wanted to know how long I would be here
you asked as if the tree wasn’t shedding bark already
as if the dandelions had yet to throw their seed
you asked as if there was time, the golden rod and
sun collecting in the bowl of my belly. Where have you
gone? It’s not that I was waiting exactly, but I wasn’t
moving, still like a deer in the bushes who suspects
someone waits to catch her with his eye. Someone,
on whom I should not be eavesdropping, says Science 
says you could fit all of the planets between the earth
and the moon. I visualize it but even the image is
nothing more than a pretty line for a poem. My huge
book of postmodern poetry sits waterlogged on the
table. It is open but unread. The tea grows cold.