poem 3

Without a picture
you thought zero,

an unopened letter
delete to sender

I wrote in the dark

after you spoke
in only vowels
before erasing
yourself to sleep,
your back crisscrossed
with moonrays

I rose next to you
without pillow,
sliced my calf
on your shoulder blade

and then
cradled your arm
against my ear
like a dead telephone

Candy R. Wei
2000