Too often I find myself lost to

The tune of longing, and we’ll say

Loneliness in every

Beat; my scarf’s discarded and the

thin varnish of a button-down shirt is

Undone—would that I could write you blithely, simply as

a postcard: wish you were here—anyway, you

still remain in my

brain and my heart and my

God, my God, I’m glad I’m alone

but how I wish I weren’t.