The grief you cry out from
draws you toward union.
Your pure sadness
that wants help
is the secret cup.
Listen to the moan of a dog for its master.
That whining is the connection.
-Jalal Al-Din Rumi, excerpt from Love Dogs
I think that was a place I searched
on craigslist back in the day when lonely others
hunching on the toilet or in
some poorly lit nook I imagine
flicked a series of letters on a phone
to find themselves wanted by wanting, I never
posted such a visible thing I just wanted to feel
missed
connections are placed deeper
beneath the arrow, there maybe I may find
who notices me but for some other flickering
reason I lift my chin to break lips
at the brim of my mug
whose factory sheen is black and mirroring
my face stretching along what once
was sludge and slit
body, full now
and then of my starchy tan
offering—
who are you missing?
searching to be missed?
Will I take the long pour I gave
of milk and grain
to the hidden post?