The Box
Opened or closed, the mood
descends
with the pull of tooth and
tongue
and discarded sound in wet
grass,
its odor mingling with
cordite
by summer pavement under the
canopy,
six plastic flowers faded by the
sun,
and photographs scattered over scraped
earth,
where we stand bound and
apart,
I reach toward
you
and find only
air.
“The Box” first appeared here in May 2015.
O at the Edges 
This piece took me to a sad place. Well-written, Robert.
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Thank you, Susi. was in a sad place when I wrote it several years ago.
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You’re welcome, Robert. You expressed your grief very deeply. Thanks for sharing.
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