this is only novel
to me
because
it hurts
but deep inside my psyche
you still exist
here
and like a fool
I will keep loving you
this grain of sand
is still a stone
and that glass
still sand
and my room
still holds a chasm of you
where dust has no pretense
no matter your coordinates
I am still with you
we betray ourselves with all kinds of abandonments
only to find
we are still with us
it is so creative of us
to think up loss
denial
forgetfullness
but we are still full
of something
other
than all our curses
still
the sun rises
on the glib heart
and still
the muse writhes in the art
your eyes which once held my beloved
will come again
to confront me
and I will recognize
love
again
Your Beloved
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