Every particle of night

every particle of night is bone dry
the stars outside
for surely there are stars
are obscured by the electric glow of the city

the absence of sun is unbearable
like a flower without a field

no one answers the phone
and the rest have no phone
for they have no voice
their ashes fill my house

here in the darkness my voice
reaches out in solitude
towards a strangely absent god

and what is god
if I pretend does he or she appear
and where
an image a feeling a sense of relief?

the only water that quenches
this ache is a rain of tears
and ever so briefly
but long enough to go on--

in the kitchen sink a chartreuse orchid
has given itself to pushing out fresh leaves.

© 2009 Lorena Lobita Wolfman