Your Voice

Within your voice—its sounds, intonation,

Resonance—a lexicon, syntax, a

Language, mine merging with yours in words that 

Accrete layers beyond and above their 

Fundamental—overtones and hints heard 

Even when they’re not played, a secret though

Shared vocabulary.  Still, so close, I 

Forget, lose details.  At one point I could 

Draw your hands, neck and chest, the shape of your 

Ribs’ outline and span.  If I’m still, the room 

Is dark, I remember some of what there 

Is, but more loss all the time, and more fear—

It’s gradual, quiet—no matter how 

Abrupt or sudden the leaving.   After 

Dominique killed herself, Sammy and I 

Forgot she was gone.  Then necessary.  

All the blood, the whole Satyricon phase, 

Jonesing, Sammy getting married to Chris,

Beat on the regular, the things I did 

For attention.  I’m not the same person, 

Though it’s certain I am.  I recall but 

Can’t remember her.  You raise ghosts talking

About your own Dominique, in your voice 

Their names’ coincidence—absent presence.