he comes fast and early, but lingers longer
he doesn’t know

he could be suave, serene a quietude
he doesn’t know

she’s been writing goodbyes since Christmas
he doesn’t know

he is the writer of this storybook
perhaps he does know

she t(h)reads deep water, they’re never whole
for a while, she knew

she’s been saying never but
it’s too far a stretch

he’s been drawing lines until there’s no more
to draw, she doesn’t mind

for so long they will have to live in the clouds
but for one day, they may not

one day they won’t have to ask, “are you okay?” anymore

they don’t know. not just yet.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my eyes and all is born again —Sylvia Plath