how I would sing like a kettle to keep you

Dear Darkness--consider this
my last attempt

to reach you. My previous
few missives

having boomeranged back
unread, postmarks blurred

by the gloved hands
that tried carrying

them to your door.
Or, torn

by the machines.
I wish

you could see the water
here, so clear

you can see the bottom--
thought that's nothing

new for me. All afternoon
I let sun seep

my skin, steep me
like strong tea.

Despair,
if you've moved

I wish you would
send word

or ring.
How I would sing

like a kettle to keep you.

[Kevin Young {1970- } 'I don't burn' from Dear Darkness]