Remote

The loneliest place, on the printed page
is the empty space
for next of kin, where people write the names
of those who love them

The emptiest place, in this hollow house
is that distant spot right
next to where I lie in that too big bed
where you used to come to me

The hardest time, and all time breaks
is the present moment
when it all stands still, and I smash the seconds
with crawling apprehension

The most desolate spot, in these homeless lines
is the space between the syllables
on the scribbled pages and tattered book
where lofty words once lived

Time stands still
moments stretch into agonized eternity
the familiar is lost
in bewildered distress
and I stand and I fall and I break and I darn
I’m an old pair of socks, waiting
for you to wear me that one last time