With all the knocks I’ve shouldered off

like they were butterflies, you’d think

that I was tough enough to keep dry eyes,

but when I see your bed not slept in -

three nights in a row, the rag doll

on your pillow waiting to be hugged,

the note on the dresser I’ve read and read

and still believe I’ve read it wrong --

how wrong you’d be to think I’m stone.