I have written enough about you to fill a slim volume
or maybe two ships
set sail for one of the countries you visit
sending me letters in the day, with marks and fingerprints from all around the world
they would smell
like you, even as that was impossible
and I prepared, as nobody ever can
for the day I would lose you
why not, you ask, appreciate the now, when you are here on earth?
I have, though, we have never spent our lives together or even entwined
I have been saying goodbye all these years
yet it will not be sufficient, it could never be enough
you are more of me, than myself
and I feel you inside even though you are not here now, and gone in the future
loving you has felt like continual loss and little gain
yet I do, more than anything else, for you are that kite, unmoored itself and got away
the thought that comes creeping up as you laugh, as if I had a twin, and yes, she was the one who grew in courage, living full in ways I knew only from books
you have the lifeline of twenty palms and though you could not be a mother, you have always inspired me, like the character from a favorite story
reaching near and never touching, someone marvelous and unable to approach
I live sometimes with my eyes seeing through yours
the waves of your life nearing but never reaching, shore
at some point there will be a day when you are not simply absent and not around the corner
but further then, impossible to mend, hands of time, spent longing
it may be my song to want and not receive, the beauty that is you, and your life as it cleaves
further away, until from a great distance I cannot distinquish, squinting until my eyes hurt and run
I would if I could, but I never have, and I won’t
it is the theatre of our lives to play out
my role is that of thirsty
yours to make ordinary seem
extrodinary
you are the giver of dreams
I shall always wish
for one more day where I see
your figure coming closer through the dusk
perhaps to stay a while, even if we do not touch
I long, in layers, not to lose, what I have, not.