The light is dim.
The wings of a crow
beat the clouds thin
into wisps of fog.
In the residue of silence
I try to think of ways
to make you see me,
only to realize
how naive i am.
There is no forcing sight.
The eyes either see
or they don't.
One in love
and the other not;
the blind cant lead the blind.
One must let go.
I must let go.