i can’t find you in my poetry
my god, the months and months of
stubbornly writing every letter
of the alphabet, only to realize
i’d again spelled out your name
and now
i don’t stumble upon you in song lyrics
can’t fathom the sound of my name
in your voice, you are
a Polaroid photograph, yellowing on
some forgotten windowsill,
and i’m somewhere outside, a hundred
thousand miles away
michael king 