The Lateness of the Hour

Nearly midnight and the rain
will fall soon, and nothing left
to be said can be said, now.

I’ve spent another day finding
new doors to open, but I’ve run
through enough fluorescent

hallways to find that none
lead to where you are anymore.
So I searched the cemetery

for headstones bearing your
face, your gentle handwriting
memorialized in granite as if

you would leave me something
to find, but in this ringing
dark I only found only memory.