I can count the raindrops
falling on top of the tables in front of me,
I can count their sound and enjoy each note,
enjoy the music they make
as the droplets break when they touch–
the hard surface of what it shouldn’t have been…
I can count the sunrays, when the rain leaves,
and the clouds part;
I can take the whiteness and the blue
they force onto me,
if I just close my eyes and open my mind.
I can count each step of theirs
when they leave, and walk away from me;
I can count each step of mine
when I leave, and walk away from them
I can count the moments I was afraid, scared, and weak
if I name each of my fingers ONE HUNDRED–
in my hands, I can open six.
And for one month, even if I name each of my fingers A THOUSAND
I can’t count the times your presence I missed.
I can count everything, but not what I seek.