Time and the weather have buried me,
Up to my eyes in moldy snow,
And this new definition of alone,
Is something I can’t pick apart.
Though the world keeps beating,
A pulse through my whistling bones,
I cannot keep my eyes from drifting,
Trying to touch this, gaping black hole.
I miss you within a subtle breath,
Like a involuntary sigh or the,
Palm of yesterday’s morning sun where,
Your name lies curled up and sleeping.
All we have is imprints in wet clay,
But I follow your tracks hours at a time,
Spotting empty places in the worlds,
Where you’ve suddenly gone missing.
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