Poetry

Some nights you ask me for my help, and I do not know how to offer it, for when I asked you how, long ago, you never answered.

Some days you tell me how you are, and I do not know how to respond, for when I asked you how, long ago, you never answered.

Some morning you tell me how you slept, and I do not know how to make it better, for when I asked you how, long ago, you never answered.

Some afternoons you tell me to come home, and I do not know how I could ever do it, for when I asked you how, long ago, you never answered.