why
is       it
so hard to
tell          you
g o o d n i g h t
when i know
i'll see you
again
come
morning?
i read once that
the soul doesn't know
time   or   reason,   it   only
understands when it's
not whole.  i guess
that means
you're
m   y
missing
piece  ,  the
one    i've    thought
was too lost to be found
(my      hands      don't
s h a k e     w h e n
y  o  u   '  r  e
around)

your dad went grey
while I was away, you
grew the brown beard
he lost, your dad went
grey while I was away,
you grew the brown
beard he lost.

Devon tried
but his hands
were sticky and his voice,
shaky, and so
I refused to
look him in the
eyes.

I cannot write
I cannot find
behind the creases
of my mind
the words to fill
another line,
those words wait
out of sight
for now I
cannot write.