Tonight, after midnight
we are both outside, waiting
for the meteor shower that neither
of us can see.

On the phone
in the dark, in different
cities, we tell
the stories of each day–
a short walk across
the small bridge and
through the empty
parking lot, an hour
of writing and deleting lines
about your body, the bitter
smell of a downtown
coffee house, a longer walk
home, a glimpse
of you, but
it wasn’t you
crossing the street–

I’m sitting next to you
I say into the phone, and we are both
stretching and looking. I see you,
you say. Then we are both
quiet and searching, letting
our eyes adjust to the dark, breathing
and sighing together
waiting for something
to streak across the sky.