Nothing is happening

I am losing you.

Every hour of the night, every minute of the hour:

It

is happening,

right now.

 

The doctor is auscultating my chest,

listening for the sound of what the image says.

Silence:

she can’t hear anything.

This doctor is looking at me like a fucking human being.

 

You’re talking to me on the phone,

asking me if there’s anything wrong.

Nothing.

I can hear you,

I cannot see you.

 

I am sitting at my desk,

the computer still off.

Waiting,

as you advised the other day –  this may turn out to be your last lesson:

« You should learn again to think without a computer. »

 

I am reading a play in a foreign language,

I am walking across a heath by your side.

Soon,

I will let you go your own way.

The pain in my chest is a symptom of nothing.

 

My lover is lying next to me, reading a newspaper,

hoping to find a poem for him in the Valentine Day section.

I forgot!

He’s joking about it but what if he knew,

I’ve been awake for hours, writing this sleepless poem for you.

 

The pain in my chest is a symptom of nothing.

I’m talking to you in a foreign language.

Words

will soon become indistinct again,

at your end of the line.

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