You miss me.

But still you throw your words
and I get caught up in a hailstorm of paper
shallow but deep cuts
as we fall or fly towards disillusion.

I see you
standing straight on high; heavy with
all the threat of the curve of the earth
and I

must not blink.

And in the darkness miss
your wondrous eruption inevitable
falling, flying

into something more than here,
something more than now,
something more than we.