GLACIERS

Blue veins run up her fingers
just like those blue coals
that run up her cigarettes

and like the glaciers that yearn to break
free from one another
along the coast of some frozen country

I ask
“what does it mean to you
to be alone?”

and looking up at me, so hopelessly,
she asks
“so you mean:

what does it mean to me
to be without you?”