the third drawer down,
the drawer with no front on it,
yawns, with shirts, like tongues, hanging out
i can't slide it open, so i'm tossing
everything, wild-eyed, ransacking
my memory
for just that moment, when
the salt air of nantucket
pushed the hair back,
off your cheek, at last
revealing the small curves of your ear
i want to whisper
just once more
about how i lived
before you came; and watch
your lips mumble in sleep,
and your eyes stare hard
at the sea.
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