Published January 1, 2021 by April Fox

I am not


to look at the place

you left your shoes

(I see them at night, behind

my shuttered eyelids, I picture


side by side, one laid over sideways

discarded with the laces

struggling to catch up)

I have a towel, here

I have hot coffee

you can have my robe.

The waves creep in and I know it’s not the ocean


you never made it there, and still

-and still.

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