The Missing
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There was wonder in the whyness of our lives: The prophesies of gnarled and riven trees; the strangulating sermons of lush vines; The loneliness the catbirds left behind; the final raindrop's slither down a leaf; The skull's wry rictus underneath the kiss. Sad absence sighs a shadow through a door, the burning breath pursues it till it's gone. Tears languish in the shuttered eye, the smell of seasons nets the vapored smile. The elusive missing glint ripples on the drifting tides, repose in empty beds, rise moonward on the barks of dogs, draw taunt the hanging moments of our lives. They leave a space for roses near a post, a patient place for books upon a shelf, a table spot for coffee in a mug, a quietness for melodies played out of tune with time. These idle thoughts are glories in the shadows and guard the whereabouts of missing things, their foolish atoms scattered in the dust. The roiled and sea-churned grains of sand lost in the breaking wave still crave reunion with the sun. |
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