This is a poem about unexpected telepathy.
It's only published here.
Last Night I Called Your Name
three times, like ringing
a tiny bell, louder
each tinging tap,
and said to you:
_ _ _ _ _ _.
Words to be filled,
were filled, will be, had been.
Time is not a sentence
but a tower of verbs
in every dimension
we have lived together.
So this morning
it was no surprise
when you spoke mine back
just once, lightly,
your voice a question.