Pose For Me

To me you pose a problem, but questions are all I pose to you:

Where have you gone? How will I carry on?

And:
Is life supposed to live without you? Is blood supposed to flow? Is breath supposed to breathe?

Or:
Is the moon supposed to steal the sun's light? Are clouds supposed to hide the stars while they change into their sparkling gowns, or are the stars supposed to walk around in their naked splendor, posing their burning bodies like models in front of a camera--our eyes?

But:
Answers never pose themselves. They relax on couches and ignore you.
Remember that when you drown out the noise of crickets with your headphones and too-loud volume.

I'm sitting next to them, waiting for your eyes.