William Bronk in My Living Room

"...even we, who whisper together now closely, as though we were two, as children do ... making believe, even as we believe, that another is there." - from "Not My Loneliness, But Ours" (The World, The Wordless)

Birdsong scrapes its pattern in my head
—like you, my dear, like you,
the sounds are all I have to know
the pain that I call yours

In the back and forth of thoughts 

       all of them my own,      

all stolen from the sky

       without the codes.

Where I live,

       behind this layering of lies

everything, even the baby saying "hi"
over and over and over again

makes sense.