The Missing

To call but not back.

brown bare tree

Certain loves move this way, entire lives

sharing only this admission in the end:

I do not know you anymore. And yet. Will you?

––a refrain and its penance, demanded.

It varies. Who is addressed.

Maybe this is the crux of our want.

To be challenged, then absolved.

We went out looking for the animals,

but the animals had gone. They ran

from their names. We had to admit.

That it was possible we had the wrong


Author: Stacey C. Johnson

I keep watch and listen, mostly in dark places.

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