your damn blog has been blocked for years.
your instagram stagnant at 191 posts.
and it sadly occurs to me that if you or I died,
we would not know on our ends.
Dale and Pate wouldn't know.
Audra and Heather would not.
and I'm sure whomever your with
doesn't know I exist or that you check this.
I will never be able to say sorry
or see you if you were sick,
but I only know you're still kicking
because I check your website and get hits on my blog.
I resort to re-reading The Grass Harp,
and A Secret History, listen to old songs
just to go back in time and revisit you,
someway, somehow, which isn't different now.
I am nothing to you, but I hope you are okay,
laughing and covering your mouth,
letting that beautiful idiosyncrasy liven,
which is exactly what this poem hopes to do.