Like the blanket that comes untucked
clutched closer around the shoulders
against the looming night or
the cloud rolled into rain, we go
missing, the intent taking sides with
a direction, the motion alone
enough to empty the tomb of
every dead end, the once both
phenomenon and constant,
fiddling with the figures until
the equation fits, this touch
a place where my name filled in,
a calculation to make the story
stick together, a back then
coming around again, the moment
here and there because
I am saying it to you.
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