When I whispered your name
a question for the nighttime,
weary and sad
in the deep dark,
it was silly I know
but I almost believed
Id hear his answer
calling out
beyond the tide,
the veil,
ground and heaven.

I sip coffee slower now,
feel empty in restaurants
and kitchen tables,
weep watching
old movies
you and I glowed at
together as kids,
growing up in Michigan marshes
with dragonflies our secret holders
and the clock ticked with
less of a harshness and demanding then.

Blank lines,
dead forests,
narrow hallways
with squeezed contorted faces,
the mystic lamp
grows so dim
amongst the collectors’ clamor,
always thumping at my head,
cold gold bricks
and curses.

But even so,
the magic that dripped
off her tongue,
oh my,
it made me quiver,
to sit on my floor
with her inked mused spirit
washing in on me
tender but strong
like a wave
reaching its fingers
to the moon.

It seemed fated almost,
like my spirit,
without really knowing it,
had been intertwining
a melody into the cloud cover
and you had noticed,
like a glimmer of something familiar,
and walked into my life
with such a light
it made me tremble

in the beauty.

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