From the Dictionary of Long-Distance

by Scott Silsbe

Something’s not in orbit in this galaxy.

And then there’s the problem of time-zones.

She tells me the sun’s setting at midnight

and I believe her.  And my head is a motorcycle

on fire at the base of a bridge.  Which is to say

I’m a sucker for the possible.  To say that

I think the weather’s coming this way.

A little broken up about nothing.  Maybe 

you were right when you said I’d miss you.

It feels as if I could believe in almost anything

except maybe time or God.  It’s happening

all over again, but it’s different.  Maybe

it’s all a misunderstanding.  When she

hangs up, she says, “I’ll be right over,”

and I know that she’ll never show.