We try, but cannot watch each other’s day,
leave clues and follow them. A single word
tells me a rowdy evening has occurred,
tells you I heard a street musician play
a song that moved me. So we fabricate
lives for each other to fill in the gaps.
Your photographs of shoes may hint perhaps
your next designs, some poem I translate
at all the languages I use for love.
Weather reports tell me that there is rain
beating against your window. Almost pain
this sense of seeing you at one remove
building my sense of you shard upon shard
makes art perhaps simply by being hard.