She's rung the world's doorbell
knocked on trees in every hemisphere
climbed through earth's wormholes
sprung leaks in artesian wells
collapsed in cold deserts
after following dwindling tracks
hot from trying to conjure up mirages
his face in the spun sun.
She's joined humanity's marathons
to find his number in a sea of digits
pinned to heaving chests, the air thick
with anonymous sweat.
When someone you love goes missing
the whole world feels unpopulated.
Friend, where have you gone?
Have you curled Into another?
Do the fires there burn brighter?
Are the easy chairs softer?
The clock reads 3:26 pm.
It is Sunday afternoon.