We have not spoken since the long, long days,
the lazy days grew indolent and fell. Somewhere
in the piles of days the wind collected our words
rested too. If I thought of you
hour by hour and fell beneath the weight of thought
in the piles of days and words
what you are to me you will not know
you are still when we are out of words.
If a cold light now lays on the windows,
caught my breath in crystal my silent breath
exhausted night's labor must contain my thoughts of you
every part of you drawn in escaped unseen.
If today we spoke, I would not say this is you
this every breath sustains me past the hour
longing wakes but the empty things we say,
the glib and empty things I try to fill
a single word, a single solitary word.