you and I,
sometimes we miss each other,
two blocks apart, heading north and south.
More likely, I miss you,
half on purpose, afraid you won’t show up,
leaving me in a corner café alone.
Still more afraid you will come,
God himself,
and sit across from me,
stale muffin crumbs scattered across the table.

Only, that is frightful honesty.
All the rest of the week
I think it’s accidental, you and I,
missing each other
two blocks apart.