Lacuna by Benjamin Szuhaj

I looked for you along the river

In its blue current

When I ran.

And I looked for you in literary theory

In thin abstruse pages

When I read.

And I looked for you in myself

Far less often

When I wrote.


And I looked for you in birdsong and warm breezes and

Fresh hot coffee and those few times the sun came out

Last winter. I looked for you in trite and trivial occurrences

That harbored schematics for my life.


When my mind turned inside-out and painted the walls red

I should have asked myself: What was this conspiracy?



I read meaning into everything.

I saw symbols everywhere. I drove myself mad

Looking for an answer ‘out there.’


Then I took a break—I was forced to take a break;

To wait with your absence.

By waiting, I realized

What was missing

Wasn’t you;

It wasn’t me either.

What was missing was hidden in the shadow of the fear

Of what taking a chance might mean;

In believing that two roads once diverged

And never reconnected.


What was missing was the brazen


Of being wrong wrong wrong wrong

And never getting better;

But getting somewhere,

And being something

And being something

And being something.