Okay, so you can’t say sorry,
but you can give a touch that
says you are still here wanting us,
in some form at least,
wanting the still warm fragments
of what we are and continue to be.
I expect nothing less than something
in this strange connection
that tunes out and in like outback radio,
and we listen out for each other
waiting for the tune that sometimes
comes in loud or soft or
as strange crackling noise.
No, you can’t say sorry for all you’ve done
and failed to do, but I have enough sorry
for the both of us as I scoop up
the precious fragments and bring them
to the greeting table once again.