When writing isn't enough

i am sorry i doubted you my closet friend i tried to measure your worth in rent and phone bills in apple and peaches i tried to measure what you have given to my belly

i cannot ride close to the stars with you

i cannot see the ways i can fold page into a home or a plate for dinner

but i am fed every time i read a story, or watch a show i want more of

& i wonder about the mind behind the mirror the man who sat on a bed at a desk on a plane & wrote you into existence & filled this empty vessel to see

once again