and you're not here.
maybe
I should call you up
just to hear your voice
instead of trying so hard
to reproduce it from memory.
maybe
I'll drive over to your house
and sneak into your bedroom
just to watch you sleep.
maybe
I'll fire flares into the sky
and spell your name.
but maybe
as the silence
strives to tell me
there is strength in longing.
maybe
it's these unspoken words
whispered in the the night
that you hear most clearly.
maybe
I'll write this poem
instead.
Paul David Mena
29 May 1997
Somerville, MA
