When people he hasn’t seen
for a while ask after his wife,
he lies
to avoid talking
about the separation.
He turns away,
turns inward to the self
he meets each night
in that dark hallway
of a thousand turns
toward sleep.
Sleepless,
in his mind he goes back
and revises the past
like a manuscript
or turns it over and over
like an envelope,
hoping the letter inside
will turn out to be
some undiscovered
tropical flower.