You appear at the strangest times, like last night at the kitchen window
through a dark downpour tapping morse on the glass, dots and dashes
that trickled sadly towards the concrete sill as the kettle clicked off.

I picked you up in a second, in the abrupt squall that tripped the halogen,
or the fir trees jutting sharply, silvered supernovas blasted bright
by a gulag searchlight, heavy wrecks drowning in a wind-wallow.

But mostly you loitered like an impenetrable aftermath in the unhitching
deaf and dumb darkness between them, where the city usually glimmered.
I caught those slender fingers, a head thrown back in laughter,

and from the corner of my eye I glimpsed the dear look of yours.
I tried to judge the distance but the dark, like my stomach,
was a solid ball, and I simply stared blankly clutching a tea bag.

The light went out. You withdrew again, and I was left with the
dashes and dots trickling sadly to the concrete sill.