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As the Moon Sets, the Stars ReturnTo Michael McNeilley's previous piece     Hitler Didn't DieTo Michael McNeilley's next piece

here you are

among new
blades of grass
small things
move to near
that may seem
to them as distant
as stars across
the ocean

in the dark
the walls
of the room
your hand across
the breakfast table
the memory of
your lips
moving with
my name

on the phone line
hundreds of them
only appear
each one
to be the same
watching blades
of grass

silence of
afternoon light
the cat sleeps
in a patch
of sunlight
curled around
her small bird

branches move
wave new leaves
like the greeting
hand of a friend
and though
you are not
you are

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