This time of day offers
a hint of textured space
or perhaps the strong thought of you
gives this morning its soft feeling.

The odour of longing hangs in the air
that lulls me back to sleep…

It is as if the birds know of my lot;
condescending chirps from branches
just beyond my reach.

But this space is mine alone;
my solitary has claimed it,
set it aside for the mourning of your absence…

There is space only for your haunting
here amongst the cold grass blades…
not for the warm, flesh and blood, you…

I dance each morning with the ghost of you
and I twirl
-such rhythmic twirls-
in this space I call my own…

The fact is your presence is intoxicating
like smoke you enter
assaulting my body but soothing my mind
creator of soul shadows;
flavours of margarita,  mohitos on the side –
all I want is you
on the side


i want you when your absence is obvious
you are my soul-searcher, my thought-finder

this mind that holds you intact caresses me
(envelopes) me (completely)
light to dark you are my solar eclipse
between what is and what should be

you are you, just the way I never expected you –
talk to me; I have ears and eyes and arms and hands for you alone

patches of paint I give to you
to mix and match
to find me;

your woman of colours.

Words rise
much like the sun does

4:30
not 4
not 5
and your absence is as piercing as the rays across a sky, this sky
the same sky you and I share all these mornings when we are together
and apart.

Because I know that the sound of the birds here
stroke your ears the same way they do mine

Identical space
carefully divided and separated by miles of just land…
just sun…
just birds…