absent

drift home on a storm
slide through the fizz
of air escaping in slow hiss
floating up the side
of this white building


she turns to him
i turn to her
she turns to me
i turn away

so nothing now is better
than something i did not receive
nothing is what i wanted
nothing now is what i get
and nothing you can tell me
will make it any different from this.

she turns to him
he turns to her

i turn away

and someday maybe
in these tomorrows grey
we'll meet again

and with a little salt and clover
i will no longer blame
you
or i.