I wish you looked at me
in The Gentle Light peaking midday
through the Japanese dogwood leaves
your dark honey iridescence encompassing emerald
cradling gold spun with pollen on the porch
silent stares sweeping nothing under the rug -

in The Gentle Light you are tracing my shadow
with dull flint outlining the reminiscence of our spark
when the sun sets we burn too slowly
candle smoke traps itself in jars
our emotions capped for safe keeping -

there is a leak in the sky come sunrise
dripping down dogwood
the morning hung like fly traps
you hover near the front door before coffee
transparency being the obstacle for you -

and how could it not be?

when a cigarette habit clouds your heart
reasoning closure with excuses in the ashtray
butts filling the hole you have dug for yourself
how could you fit in with the flies
when you center yourself with cockroaches  
feeding off the misery of death
greedily hunting in the dark corners of depression -

leaves continue to bud and fall in your absence
ignorant of the pretenses in The Gentle Light
when they perish beneath my feet
then you will come back hungry -

but I will not be beneath the dogwood
looking for nectar in hollow places
the luminescence of augmented love has lost its glow
rose-tints begin to neutralize in the hum of authenticity
and now I am basking happily in a monotone existence