Dear Elliot, you are long since gone And I am not sad anymore.

The twin speakers are breathing Your hushed lyrics into the room

Whose words possibly came to you As you walked up and down the main

Street, that sidewalk’s widening cracks Became a metaphor for your life.

I arrived at that point too. My fall, however, was broken by dandelions caulking the gaps.

You had your Angeles and I have had mine. They became one when they gave us utterance.

Today, sun is a bursting orange on a blue plate. Held up to it, my nightmares are laughable.

Yours, however, killed you. The tape has stopped playing.

Your voice continues to uncoil Into the ambiguous silence. Either/Or.