where the writers are
and sing your face

send for
me as you
would grace or
the last plate on
a furious table
send for me like
a quiet fire on
a crowded staircase  or
a still life dwarfed
by authentic.
that we’ve
loved shows
only
that we
know no
better.
send for
me as day
sends for
night 
and I will
ride across the
globe in your
eyes and
sing your face