Waiting, phoneless and wifeless
wondering about change
How everything could become noise
random loudness and alone
Or waiting in noise wifeless
jet propellant eight particulates on mucus membranes
Or wondering at the airport
on the mutability of the human frame
Or wifed taller, her with dark eyes
six feet tall
Or wifed blonde with jet noise
prayer five times a day
Or wifed brown skinned short haired
fedex envelope in hand
A name without object
a white skinned envelope without address
Wifed with moth wings
when landing lights overpower moth path to moon
Dust from a moth’s wings
falls, so many motes suspended in airport air
a wife says “essential, even these motes of dust have minds.
One of them could now be her.”