(c) photo of Jacqueline Howett.
An evening at the beach, we sit in the sand,
to finish quietly our expensive ice-creams.
I sigh, feeling my man’s tiredness tonight.
I realize not to expect any romantic moments.
Your absence is not about me, but life,
Your career- taking all you’ve got.
The same old grind, I must bear to watch.
Should I show compassion?
Best to keep love in perspective, to get
me through this lonely, strangeness,
luring about tonight.
Our souls know each other well,
like these distant stars.
We are worn out glue, holding up
the backdrop of these hazy, skies.
I could float off through a million galaxies,
But the empty void would not suffice,
You’ll return, when it suits you,
to play your part in my heart.
I’ll catch your love, as if it were
a precious butterfly, I must behold.
Once captured, I can do nothing
but smile, and look with wonder at
you, a tiny creature in my hand,
in a universe so much greater.
You represent time fleeting, amidst
feelings I know instinctively must
come to pass.
Maybe you are my test
in the infinite. Maybe not.
Sometimes the Gods make you blind of me,
in your many facets, when you
must play your arduous part.
I do not correct them. I watch with
my inner eye- like you,
to act out our roles, as if having
to submit to some duty. I know there
is a higher purpose to reflect,
but that, I cannot honor at this hour.
I feel the muses sitting within, watching.
Curious to how we shall act our parts;
especially when feeling contrary.
In the empty void, a weighty, single tear forms;
Bouncing off my cheek, it drops to my lap.
I question again what is real,
Is this the tear of the muse?
or mine?
Then I find it funny how this tear, my man
could never see. I ponder with
some consolation; for it’s not so bitter.
In my wisdom, these reflections turn
a refine, medium sweet. But can it really be,
that all this ado, is but to condition the soul?
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