, , , , , , , ,

for Cole Amorello

They’re not dead

They’re hiding

In the Little Nothing Places

the spaces between sentences

before the wave touches shore

the aura of sunshine

the soil under bare feet,

For you to start and stop a moment


To catch a breath.


They’re there.


You find yourself unable to speak or sing

sitting in class

brushing your teeth

not doing anything;

Your mind yields to the Little Nothing Places, where you long to be


Can’t scratch at skin that won’t peel

Can’t plant where there are weeds

Can’t drive when the car is free of chemicals

Can’t drive when you don’t know how

Can’t drive when you don’t get behind the wheel to begin with

Can’t drive when you are sleeping


That’s where I remember you,

in the Little Nothing Places,

Not dead.

That’s where I know you will still be safe

Until we meet again.