The privilege of knowing we
Has fled,
Runaway
To some harsher place,
Fallen -
Gone to bed.
And
Longing now is
Thy breathe, locked,
Waiting
Behind some other
Face, clawing at
Their throat and
Hunting for
A grip so
That
It may escape
And let it
Be said
I
Was too late,
Fallen -
Gone to bed.