Missing: You
My missing is like day's first miss
On the horizon,
Like a thought abut the brink
Of scroll, --expanse so taking--
The ever embryol universe
Shredding light through
The cloth of night.
My missing is like
The cruel of death
Which burns the last entity
And removes that fine stitch of mortality:
I pale as one such spasmed soul
For time's tearing of you and I.
I am light's missing in the glass;
My mother's passing;
The night in a dark grey eye;
Wet tread grass.
I speak of you and time peels:
Four rhythms! Four rhythms! Four rhythms!
And soaked in these throbs
With every grip of my heart,
With every legality of kindness,
I am drawn near, fixed to your Everlove,
Naked to your maiden mind
But missing you like the cool
Drying tears upon a battered woman's face.
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