Standing under a lavender sky
looking up at a waning crescent
moon.

It looks like God’s thumbnail
bitten anxiously off,

set adrift inside the evening’s
celestial ceiling.

I try to wish her back
into existence.

Alas,  
I am unsuccessful.

As the sky deepens
into more desperate purples,
I become attuned,
acclimated to the fact
that my wishes will fall short.

Solace comes in knowing that
my love did not,
neither has hers fallen short
of the stars,
of the heavens,
of the desperately purple sky.

As I was then,
I am now.

Surrounded.

*
-JBClaywell
©P&ZPublications 2018