I sit so still
as if listening
for the loving chirp
of one cricket to his dear.

Lay on my back
looking up at the ceiling
I shut my eyes, afterimages of you
and I clutch your photograph.

What are you doing?
Are you even thinking of me?
Would you be lulled by the keen sound
of my sighs and heart beat?

Do you pine for me?
Do you wish to be beside me?
Do the thoughts of never
seeing me again, keep you awake?

                                     . . . My breath deepens, as I realize everything at stake.