something has changed

I am writing to you

because something has changed;

and so now I can say that I

miss you.

My past burns like

noetic ash from fresh flowers.

They used to be in a woven basket.

Now it lays empty, by the door.

With

embers brushed from the fireplace,

I have covered all of the furniture,

and stopped the newspaper from coming;

I want to climb the hill before sunrise.

So quiet even the cows do not hear me ascend

the cobalt grass, cool like

starlight.

I can see from this vantage point

that you are the city glowing,

and I see you through the quiet stillness at the top of the world.

In the way I can hear a small breeze, I can hear you smiling.

I see you in the way the sun casts rays across each treetop like

the light is water you are pouring.

You left part of you with me,

when you placed our hands together

around a coffee mug by the firelight.

When you saw me waiting on the moon

and brought me to earth to be loved.

If old books and stale conversations

failed to make sense, it’s because I couldn’t afford to

fall apart in your arms.

Especially not when I felt time

speeding up, and you

slipping away to the next life.

Plants arising

from ash truly live forever,

or as much of forever as I can understand.

It’s okay to leave some things unspoken, like all the

love I feel that you

cannot see.