Discontinued voice from a disconnected number
in distant rainy Seattle, you’re sitting on a balcony,
smoking in another no-smoking house, out there
in the time zones. We’re out of sync.
Just a faint hum on the horizon of listening,
babble of electronics and the slow hiss of static.
Once upon a time you walked into the room of my life
and changed all the seating arrangements.
You with your blue eyes. My marjoram,
my lumpy gravy. Staring at the rain.