letters unabated. soft shoulders a brief shudder believed. they pass quietly out of town and back on the road. where promise a future to come aloud in conversation.
crescendo toward sudden bright quiet. insist on a knowledge they can never master. a small child learning to tie shoes. it feels like terrible the only useless news.
they know we have no luck with other languages so stop writing. we rely then upon hearsay. broken fragments from other narratives pointing toward a possible sighting.
we sit impatiently at the kitchen table. put off necessary chores in case they show up unexpectedly. we ought to have met them when they briefly passed through town.
blue hair eyes strummed violin. and a smile that spoke it all. why wait until the end of a book to stop singing. they comfort by distributing pain unevenly.
all the while we look at the ceiling opening to expose forgotten secrets. they have our number we promise. as failure follows our first attempt to travel mid afternoon nap.
Gary Lundy’s poetry has appeared most recently in The Bitchin’ Kitsch, Beautiful Losers, Vallum, The BeZine and Fragmentarily/Meta-Phor(e)/Play. heartbreak elopes into a kind of forgiving, was released this past July by is a rose press. He is a queer living in Missoula, Montana.