am I some kind of crazy
I wonder sometimes
as I devour
what’s left
of your leaving

luckies and lipstick
walnuts and wine
who would dare say
there’s something
not right

with the way
we were going –
the ways that we came
from places too far
to begin
here again

to speak
without speaking
to know just the same
of fire
not put out
by the passing
of days

. . .