Some Thing of Love

I have lost my family, they—

But one only loses one

Or two, before one—

No. All and none.

The traces of their faces are on my fingertips.

Not a question of where nor when. “How did they go?”

I “let” them, they’d say and so

Would I? We . . . ?

Don’t say the same “family,”

One of us is not real.

I thump and I clot, but they keep being

What I am not they would have me so

Say “family” as if I’d know.