If I called your name

If I called your name 

Out my window 

And yelled it loud at the top of my lungs 

Would you feel the rumble underneath your feet?

As it escapes my depths and flows up the street to you, 

Past the iron gate so strong and tall but fluidly it flows through,

Down the winding outdoor path 

—Somehow made of white marble tiles—

Filled with cracks but I fit in none of them,

Drifting down to your lower level, your dining room

So cozy and familial, 

Where I’ve sat once

Picking at an empty plate you tried to fill,

Turning right, into your room, seeping into your bedsheets

On which I’ve sat once, 

envying the walls that get to hold you every night 

Would you fear the rumble?

Or would you come to accept it as a warm embrace? The way it’s intended

Would you reclaim it? Excised as the result of my catharsis, the way it’s intended 

If I yelled your name from my window 

Out into the empty streets that plague us now

Would the echoes carry me to you 

Or would they bounce me right back? locking me inside the rusted iron gates I’ve made myself 

If I called your name