Sometimes Poem by Joseph Martin III

Sometimes it is
the low clank of the dinner plate
striking the stainless steel sink
followed by the ting
of a solitary fork.

Sometimes it is
the slow soft burn
of the 40 watt bulb
in the reading lamp
hovering over the bed.

Sometimes it is
the rising and falling
of your own air-filled chest,

and nothing else
that reminds you that you are alone.

You could rage like Rilke's tiger
in your sheet-rocked prison world, or
closing your eyes you can let
the atoms in your fingertips
touch the invisible waters all around
of oxygen and carbon dioxide
and feel a universe
that knows no strangers.