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up late, 
dinner, bourbon,
swapping songs
until our voices blurred. 
you'd lost someone,
right before we'd 
lost someone together.
i just learned.
our lives had perforated 
in that same spring season,
flowers blooming just in 
time for our twin grief. 
nearly fourteen years ago now. 
i knew we shared the same 
hollow
but now yours twice as deep.
sent ourselves to bed, 
but i couldn't sleep. 
my mind doing math 
without the all the numbers,
an algebra equation
of where our lives
hadn't yet but will 
inevitably, eventually overlap.
knowing that one day 
a solve for x,
so gratefully unknowable now,
will arrive. 
and i'll call you then,
ask if you remember
us singing to each other
that week of the fires.