We’ve exhausted the alphabet, wrung phrases
dry. Made new ones when the old ones

wouldn’t do. 129 miles of coax cable
have delivered my small miseries to your inbox,

carried your consolations back to the cell phone
I hold instead of your hand.

I know your shoe size, your bourbon.
That once you searched all afternoon

for the right pair of Kelly green skinny jeans,
stayed awake to watch for meteors

after I’d fallen asleep. You’ve scratched out
my rage with your fingernails.

We’ve shared the gloom of horoscopes
& tarots. An old psychic.

We’ve passed revolution back and forth
like a love note during class.

Leo, I listen for your roar. When you pace
you plan and I clear the calendar, the future.

I set aside years for you.

-Leigh Anne Hornfeldt