What Alone Is

.
.
.
a moment without you
and without her and without
him
creates that
which you love to be with
of me
.
.
.
an hour without
you and without
her and without
him sounds like
loneliness to her
and him and you
.
.
.
rolling barren hills
brown prairie
wind.
          What was
that tiny sound
I thought I heard?


_