Insomnia

It’s not that our relationship needs to be fixed

or that living without you has become unbearable,

it’s more the uncertainty of the future mixed

with the certainty that I love you terribly, --

it’s the cigarette we shared in Central Park,

and the fountain we embraced by in Lincoln Center,

it’s the poetry I read for you echoing in the dark,

and the frame of your body, long and slender,

it’s the thought that we can’t pin time to the floor,

it’s the cars outside and the sudden shrill of

their breaks that keep me up, wishing you were

next to me, with my arm underneath your pillow.