By Ansie Baird

Then there’s the other, the one who

leans in from the edge of everywhere,

the one you pay to listen. He remains

quiet, embracing the silence.

You take this in, you contemplate

the brooding gloom. No apt place

to place your gaze. Still, he says,

I like you very much.

The radiator and the fading carpet

stay the same. You raise your eyes

and find despite these veiled revelations

he’s smiling, waiting you out.

Okay, you say, let’s talk about

something else. But don’t expect

miracles from me. Maybe just

some small changes. Long pause

Small changes are miracles, he says.

ANSIE BAIRD is Poet-in-Residence at Buffalo Seminary. Her 2009 volume “In Advance of All Parting” won the White Pine Press Poetry Prize.