Morse

Morse

I turn people into morse,
lay them down in the vibrations

of my phone — a person poem,
announces itself from my pocket

so that S becomes dot-dot-dot,
for example, and that

slight bz-bzzz which could be an A or
an iamb, or my own thumping heart

matching the train’s idolic rhythmic
beating of the rails

buh-bunn, buh-bunn, buh-bunn, drumming
excitement, excitement, constant

Impatient
Conscious

Anticipation
Conscious

-come think of it it could not be
but could it?

I stand on a train platform,
where it snowed beautifully last week

then melted, found myself lacking
a direction,

when I feel a text vibration —
and “you”,

Who is this “you”?
(well for one, “you”, could be my mother)

or you could also be my
ex-friend/ex-mentor/ex-romance/deus ex machina

who apparated and rescued me from
myself, by which I always mean, loneliness,

— Bz-Bzzz
I spent all morning talking to you,

pacing around the house
like the inside of a holding cell,

(from which, tried as I have, believe me, there is
no escape, hence the talking to myself,)

or maybe “you” are your own crisis
just two time zones away

just wanting to be held the way
painters sometimes beheld their subjects,

which is to say, like snow,
the way some pianists can hold a note,

long and dark as winter nights
but soft and warm like hope,

or maybe you were the boy
who went after me in the piano competition,

who drew me into the ground,
and afterwards, drew me. Into the ground.

BZ-BZZZ — oh,
god

oh.
god.

oh-

okay,
stop!

breathe.
for a second.

just breathe, okay?
breathe in. breathe —

Remember how to do that, sir?
You are

in shock,

We are deeply sorry,
There was nothing we could do,

We tried.
our best,
A nurse will see you

Out — on the balcony they find you,
apparently,

contemplating your own life,

you, who drew me down
and held me like a note as well,

who made all the flowers swell, remorse

you were everyone, Morse,
have you texted me to
tell me why you didn’t call but leapt instead,

I guess I didn’t know you well,

from your possibly proverbial balcony into the air,
I mean is it fair,
that you are gone and I am still around,

and why does everything keep making that fucking sound.