The Portable Thomas Merton (a stream of consciousness conspicuous only in the San Francisco Zen Centre bookstore)

I write everything for you.
Every key clicks your every name
of a memory we’ve all had of
your absence, writing these
wretched loops to your memory,
and hope inscribing
itself a retrospect of your
every name forgotten but for a trace
of ether and pencil swirling every
wretched looping day you’re my lost
companion calling a forgotten name found
in every name I call in these wretched
words who practice their howl in
every looping click of your every name
posted in binaries across webs of ether
and codes of your name looped behind
every forgotten roar I scribe in second person
to the only person I am forgotten to remind
us all of the binaries we aren’t when you
arrive, my companion.