but a million hearts away,
I float past you
in the goddamn night fog.
you may even here me
sometimes yelling at raccoons
or drunk women
telling them both to stay out of my trash.
you are behind the marred gate,
and I am in the crevasse of the creek,
deciding between drowning
and waiting for the sun.
when I wade into the stream,
I will be silent
which will be louder
than you have ever been.