Somewhere, a cigarette lighter,
a pile of abandoned socks. Love

letters that begin with "I hope"
and all the reasons they were never read.

Somewhere still, a young girl in Aruba;
pieces of a porcelain doll,

that best blue dress torn to shreds;
that bit of sky burned away by the sun.

Somewhere, the siren's fading cry,
the radar blip of a plane flying over

an ocean and the other side of the fold:
"... you still think of me."

Somewhere still, the light that came
in the space between the little words, the point

of saying "I hope" even when there is no
answer, or even an echo of a thought.