Lonely

Are you there?
Sorry, sometimes—sometimes you know I
Yes.
Yes, sorry, sorry I just stumbled a little, I just wanted

Mm. Yes.
I know.

I have washed the paint from the walls with sand—
it has gotten into everything.
I promised to weather it, I realize;
but it pricks my skin
and I have not slept for days.

My mother’s jade rests warm and green
with all the hearts of those she has touched;
When I rise to meet the bleary morning
my gaze will not change the hue of my own.