Yours is an answer that lets you sleep.
Mine is a question, so I stay awake.
You have a book you don’t understand
but quote like a word a day calendar.
I have a black and white picture,
packed in a box I won’t open soon.
You need a friend. I need a metaphor.
That’s fine. We had different fathers.
Our gods wouldn’t need to match,
if we could put them aside for a moment,
let them entertain each other if they must,
and talk as if it was only me and you,
as if words in this conversation matter,
as if something could happen here, and now.