The way cannibals live
in each other,
we devour what we lack
until we are part and parcel.
The way the wind careens between us
like two old houses
to shape our voices.
We're invited out; a look says, "No."
We buy the same needed item
the same day, though I am uptown
and you are downtown,
arriving home with identical packages.
The way we don't exist outside each other.
The way fallen leaves devour our lawn
by laying themselves tip-to-tip,
smothering, leaf upon blade,
rotting softly into each other.