We often talk
Like we know each other;
Slowly
About nothing.
As we stick to the sidewalk
Of our suburban streets.

Magic created in every window;
Tender layers unfolding
Like onions as you peel their skins.

The sum of our uses
Equals
Something,
More substantial.

As we stand in the rain
And nod at the passers by.

The softer things
That grow inside of us
Shrivel;
As motions go unfed.

I tip my hat
Hang up the receiver.
And watch as my thoughts
Are strangled;
By the phone line
And all the things I never said.