Let me write about all the ways I have no more words.
You do that to me: extract incoherent sounds
that mean more than this poem could ever say.
Sometimes I wake up and think: nothing.
Not in the way I used to—blank equals empty
but how you’ve taught me: blank equals full of clean, white space
Which reminds me of the snow on our first walk
when you showed me the Highbridge and warned me not to slip
into the abyss over which we were suspended, holding hands.