Waiting For Tuesday

Sitting in the dark again, waiting for Tuesday.
The leaves outside sag like exploded balloons, and I’m
amazed at the view
now that the trees are thinner.

Heavy rain
is still expected, the heaviest,
and expected to tear
into our hulls like
Antarctic ice.

Where will you be?

Never gone but never quite
here

You stir the light with your hands

look over,

exceedingly alone, at the woman
sleeping again
next to you

Another night with another dark middle.

It really is the best way to fight: not knowing
whether or not the enemy is out there.

Still, it is thick as syrup, it is a
turning screwdriver
that makes music
like a piano.