prayer for living alone

once in the rain all of us met 
on the porch. it was spring &
i was leaving soon. the man who smelled
like pond muck & beef jerky
& the other man who sold guns.
he had short black hair & an infant daughter
who visited only occasionally.
we had never all stood together before.
the tenants of each floor of the 
tall white house on west broadway.
i don't remember what we talked about
but i imagined each of us 
holding our own little 'alone' 
in our hands. mine was always soft
as bubble gum & just as pink.
i spent nights tracing my outline
on the walls & waiting for them to come 
alive. you can get so alone you become
a terrarium. or, rather, maybe you just
discover what has already been there.
the isopods & the centipedes. the words 
hatching beneath rocks. i became 
so vast & so small. the older man smoked
& the smell lingered, captured by
the mist. the younger man ran his hand
through his hair. maybe we mentioned
the tourists coming soon or maybe
they asked to see my dog. maybe
none of us spoke aloud the word,
"alone" but it perched on our shoulders 
& laughed at the impending moon.
a car driving by with headlights 
like angels. i was the first to leave 
as i always am. i do remember that i told them,
"i will see you" which is another way 
of saying, "we are both mammals."
water ran down the street. a brief little river
carrying leaves like canoes. 
aloneness is one of those places you don't
escape. you can't wash it away
with a storm or even with the company
of fellow ghosts. it becomes a part of you.
feather or gills or hair.