It doesn’t matter if you’ve spent the day mimicking
the storm that never came, the sky heavy with gloom
that couldn’t quite erupt. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been picking
your way through your laundry list of deficits, if the room
you’re writing in feels so empty your own breath is a parrot shrill.
If the staircase keeps descending, if the window’s too opaque
for a streetlight’s single glow, if fear renders you stock-still,
silence leaves you edgy, and your longing keeps you wide awake:
Go on. Make the call. Extend your voice into the waiting air.
Another one will greet you there.