make a little circle,
touch my fingertip to thumb,
a line of flesh that does not end.
This is not the ring
that you forgot, not the shape
knuckles make on thighs
and breasts, not the hole of days
I dug and dove into. This is the circle
you did not expect, the manhole cover
I crawled up to, the shape of lips
saying: “No.” This is the drain
I place on my chest to siphon off
love’s residue. This is the zero,
the nothing left, the blast site center
aftermath. When I lift my hand,
this is my sign: three fingers splayed,
without you I am okay.
“I Miss You This Much I” first appeared in Quail Bell Magazine.