Dan DeRosato

            January Thirtieth, Two-Thousand Eleven. It was a Sunday.

            One of the hardest things in life is
              having words in your heart that you can’t utter.
                                                — James Earl Jones

               sunlight through the window //
                          // you exhale as i inhale
                      wide-eyed sleeping habits
            falling with my feet on the ground //
                  // maps of your past and past lives
                                   saying what someone was thinking //
                         // the smell of arcades
                                    46 seconds until the light
                     sitting drinking coffee Friday afternoon
               contemplating reflecting analyzing realizing and
                                     the sinking feeling for tomorrow
                      It’s never been like this, with anyone.
                    sleeping pill, dentist drill, rolling uphill,
            mentally ill and one dollar bills.      27 seconds.

                                  inches away but decades apart.
               diodes, fibers, nylons, suburbs, rivets, conjugations.
                        I’ve known you for years,
                                            but who ARE you?