Ira and Bob
I’m not the kind to have prophetic dreams,
so I’m going to say that the run-in we had in mine
last night is probably not indicative of your actual
state of mind or willingness to accompany me
and Ira Glass
in a little rendition of “Buckets of Rain”
with or without the presence of that damned recording engineer
who seemed to have run off right at the pivotal moment;
but,
I’d love to know what you are thinking,
right now,
they way I do when we are lying in bed
and I feel farther from you than the distance
between Uganda and the Urals
Lying there, inches apart, two isolated islands—
the little archipelago of my thoughts
just shy of the distance one could sail
to get to yours.
