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Iíve dreamt again, of beetles, of mouths
filled with dark earth and I wake, startled,
to the sound of rain falling on stones.
A thought whispers itself in my ear,
'Even stone wears away
under the delicate force of tears'...
On the window, I see your fingerprints,
smudges on cold glass.
Many times, my hand has risen
to wipe them away, yet always stops
as if stilled by the fear
that this simple act could erase you
from my heart.
You taught me love,
yet without you, life
becomes a useless skill.
I swear I can taste you on my tongue,
(so like rain, earthy and green)
and I feel you linger, breathing
the soft sighs of the dead in my ear.
Hidden in echoes, comforting footsteps
trail me from here
this empty room is filled with you,
even as I am filled with sorrows.
Iíve tried, again and again, to write
of you-- deep, aching words that weep
from my pen, love letters to gentle shadows...
I am pale rain and grieving air--
fragile petals that fall
across the lips of a mournful ghost,
and only love remains"--
but they are merely ink
on ordinary paper, voiceless
Something loves and torments us...
refusing to let go.
How many times has the moon
waxed and waned-- how many times
has the wisteria flowered
since Iíve shut us both away?
Love lives wherever.
You and I
are meant for different places, now.
Papers shift and flutter to the floor
on your soundless breeze.
We must let the dead move on.
"I place these moments in my pocket
to be pulled
at the rush of noon,
the crush of three...
when tears come,
when words must learn to be enough..." MKL