Presence / Absence

If I cross off all the days
on the calendar
that you weren’t here,
whole months would be cast
adrift into oceans of black ink.


Disconnected,
broken apart
from the other months,
only reachable by
telephone.

Hello?
When will I see you again?
My island is too far
from shore to remember
what you look like.

The connection is bad,
I cannot hear you.
You’re breaking up,
you’re breaking up.
Are we breaking up?
There you are. We are not broken.

Absence reveals
what is left behind.
The island is good,
good enough for rebuilding
when our islands touch
again.