UPENDED

The beauty of a slash,
and consequent fold in the fabric
you left behind,
now rendered translucent by
time’s obvious workings.

It’s best that way--that it’s obvious:
the rusty planer in the corner,
the plastic bag we perhaps used to carry milk
for coffee and cereal
consumed during the mornings
we still endured our fragile
silences.
The bag now inhabiting the wind, left to swoop and dive
with exuberant abandon.

We’re told to tidy up,
but the tidier we are the more we notice
what slips.

The ragged gauze
used for concealment
that always tore from overuse.

UPENDED

We construct meanings from
the random things that gets in our way.
But I wonder if the
gets-in-our-way
was the root of the problem. Perhaps
never-meant-to be
is how to look at things.

I miss you.
I admit it as I dribble the words.
Miss the confusion,
the upended plans, the holes, the sudden tears and contortions in the fabric of our lives,
that revealed the sky in unending blue or black
in occasional
moments.