Splash

I’m rinsing a cup,

thinking about nothing, really,

just the splash of water

the water against the sink—

when he’s there.

Not his voice,

just that hush I know,

like mountains waiting for the sun.

I don’t stop,

but I’m paused inside,

holding the handle too long,

letting it drip.

I want to tell him

(what? that I’m trying?),

but it’s ridiculous,

talking to steam.

I finish the dishes.

I don’t finish the thought.