In Drawers
Even if all you'll ever be again
is a sketch in a drawer
or a half-written song,
these are parts of you
I can't bear to get rid of--
lead scratches on crumpled paper
that carry traces of your
presence to my fingertips
and even as my hands tremble
I can't let go of what's left of you.
In my nightmares this is an
empty house except for those
pictures and notes tucked away
where I can barely stand to visit
and in my waking hours I treasure
meaningless things you toss in drawers
like the very cup Christ drank from
and in these things you seem
not to recognize the remnants
of the way you once saved me.
is a sketch in a drawer
or a half-written song,
these are parts of you
I can't bear to get rid of--
lead scratches on crumpled paper
that carry traces of your
presence to my fingertips
and even as my hands tremble
I can't let go of what's left of you.
In my nightmares this is an
empty house except for those
pictures and notes tucked away
where I can barely stand to visit
and in my waking hours I treasure
meaningless things you toss in drawers
like the very cup Christ drank from
and in these things you seem
not to recognize the remnants
of the way you once saved me.