Yes well we are distant now,
                                                                                        the past like a darkening wall
                                                                                        between us, an illness. I
                                                                                        touch the bricks with my fingers,
                                                                                        break my nails as I try to
                                                                                        scratch the cement, grey, bitter,
                                                                                        can’t focus any longer.

                                                                                        Her images are coming
                                                                                        out of my chest, projected
                                                                                        on the wall like good old slides,
                                                                                        the images seem to be soft,
                                                                                        soft toys, a cushion with
                                                                                        her photo on it. A star.