“L’important ce n’est pas lieu où on se trouve,    
                         C’est l’état d’esprit dans lequel on est.” 

                                                                    –       French Proverb 

An earring hides somewhere (missing) in my car—
trace of silver & ice just as tiny as you.
Its presence is constant; its voice is pulsar.

That morning (after night) you messaged from afar;
I went searching within, shifting contents accrued
for the earring that hid somewhere (missing) in my car

under seatbacks & uprights, round both blankets & bars,
til one shimmered with sun—just the one, not the two
(still feeling its presence, voice constant & pulsar).

The one that I found murmurs quiet memoirs
from the dresser by my bed in sepia hues:
missing moments once hidden right there in my car—

heat of bodies & pressure, creating feldspar
between two (or just one), an alchemical brew,
that is missing; an earring hiding there in my car.

Its back at an angle, a broken au revoir
fingers can’t bend to shape—heart can’t help but construe
how your presence—inconstant—was a choice & pulsar.

I wish I could give you more than this escritoire
a fragment of value beyond what has ensued
or an earring (all you’re missing) somewhere in my car

but you’re silent—I’m silent—& some things simply are
& some aren’t & cannot find hope to pull through.
So an earring is hiding—I am missing—& my car
whispers presence & constance; love’s voice yet pulsar.