Years since acquaintances,
Months since 'You and I',
Fortnights since 'We',
Weeks since  "I love you's"
Days since separation,
Hours since your 'Goodbye',
Minutes since tears,

Not even a second since you.

The tree's now fleshed out
with leaves
shushing the wind's passion,
                                      'be with me'
moaning sighs to its lover
sway and stretch of torso and limbs
heart pulses
vibrating root deep
                                         'always'

The poet dies the moment
in each poem that's written
he has drained the essence
of self-- the most poignant he has spoken

fresh breath he will redraw
upon the next visitation of inspiration
a new world he will vocalise
the dying unto words is his chosen mission.