Seeing you cross-legged on the bleachers,
thin lips smiling and
delicate fingers grasping
the new camera you got for Christmas,
snapping shots of him and his beard
as he runs up and down the court -

Is it as weird for you, as it is for me -
That we have nothing to talk about?
Words so easily plucked from the shallows
two years ago, now scatter like frightened minnows.
It’s such a shame that flirting was our only

excuse for communication. And now I just don’t
Have it in me. That night, that text, that sadness
Hollowed me out; scraped the fool’s gold from
the cavern which I thought had already
been mined dry by your predecessor.

Now,
All I can do is sigh quietly and say,
“New camera?”