Outside Your Darkened Door

last night I looked up from my book
at the clock, startled, and I responded Yes
I miss you too.
without even knowing why,
as if the phone had rung unexpectedly
at 11:45pm.

when someone thinks hard about you
from a distance
it is a thing you cannot see or look away from;
it the stillness after a shout, and the image fading -
the empty room becomes instead
the space between you and
the one who has spoken your name
to themselves
on the cold night air, somewhere
someone searching
for the words
they would use if
they thought you were listening,
at 11:45pm.

what good is it?
to hear the shout, to speak
as if spoken to;
sitting alone, with a book
I wonder
not for the first time.
This comes and goes, this ear
like a dog's ear, tuned to the miles
between one breath and
the next.