I think you are not lucky

enough

to know

the sadness

I’ve known.
perhaps that is why

I keep courting it.
to recognize the deep wells

in another’s

smiling eyes

and say

I know you.
I see you.
I smell

the hospital room.

I know

the lightness in the chest

and the bloom of sweat

on the palms
that come with the phone call

 
the hideous joy of lying

on the left side

doubled over

wracked with seizuresobs

 
there are no peach-colored books

no meditations

to replace

this kind
of knowing