Until You Came Along

 
The unimaginable nothing, not the nothing I 
had, a nothing with breath, a door,
a sky, a four-door burgundy Highlander.
At a florist’s I wired roses for your birthday.

How enthralled I was seeing you
on a screen, our online time, face to face,
hearing you, touching.  My fingers lace
a plum corset with you in it—only virtual.

Buds opened on a table near your pipe
for weed. Till you came I lived. A battery
in my SUV, a winter road, gray skies.
Then, across a counter a florist swiped

my card. I tapped keys. You appeared,
my everything, not the nothing of the dead.