What would I ever do but
Find the little pieces of sand swept under the front door carpet,
Sweep them out and make sense of them
And the halos of light they magnify in your rooms;
Understand the small patterns in the sheets that
Outline softly the places where your body must have alighted,
Chasing down the memory
Of the cold tile floors we padded our socked feet across anxiously,
Hysterical at the quiet sound of our small gasps of air against
The way too cold thermostat breaths.
We sang to each other on the
Old road and I think you know,
I want to untangle you;
Reason with your insignificant details and make them significant.