You are my something

You claim nothing

You inhabit no space

In my psyche 

That is how universal 

You are. You areĀ 

The very thread 

Everything is made of,

 I cannot 

Hear you, like old 

Lovers, I cannot

Feel your absence

I feel your presence 

Always, amplifying

My reality.

Back stage romance

I know they think

Less of me because

I am not seen with you

A single woman

A single human

A strange thing

A heavy thing

A pack animal


A flat plain

An empty pan

A loose string.

And so alone we go

And it goes on and on

Like Herbie Hancock

Playing to himself,

Cooking music on his stove

Avoiding all the expected notes.