Glenn Gould is playing Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 11 in A major (‘Alla Turca’). It’s almost 3AM. I have a lot of stuff to write but find myself walking around in my room, wishing for a cigarette, thinking about a lot of things I shouldn’t.
I imagined that you’d miss me, thought
you’d pace your hardwood floor in odd
worn socks, watch the clock sit stuck,
get late to work, type my name caps lock
press and hold shift/break, miss buses, meals
or sit with fork half-way, lost, for minutes,
hours, sleep badly, late, dream chases, shake
send fingers out to pad the pillow, find
my hollow, start awake, roll over, hug a gap,
an ache, take a walk, damp dawn, of course,
wrapped in a mac with the collar up, glimpse
a slice of face, tap a stranger’s back, draw a blank;
as I have. Each time, I run to press your face
to mine, mine, shining with imagined rain.