On Being mad at Alexis

It occurs to me that being mad

may be due to an invalid perception.

Maybe, maybe not.

How can you not do what you say

with me listening so?

Hearing, maybe not.

You're there, and me here, sitting

writing at you.

Saying, but maybe not.

Why must I leave?

To help you past the hardness of tomorrows?

Maybe, maybe not.

My love for you is my life

like daylight within night,

soft, visible.

Probably, probably.

Your not here when my words are

and my madness is a mirror of ego.

Closer, closer.

I can touch the best of me if you can stand it.

Exactly, exactly.

Is this your question

or your answer, marked in absence.

Why, Why?