“Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdito.”
Tonight is the saddest line:
it is, for example, a whisper torn against
a yearning sky; a premature hush across
an expanse of expectation,
shattered in the distance with
not even a glimpse of her infinite eyes.
Do you think that you did not have her?
Do you worry that you have lost her?
A tombstone night stippled with shards.
An open, stifling yawn of want and wondering,
forsaken but not alone.
He is an unbitten apple,
a blind, unseparated blend of red and
like a started symphony
found while waiting.
[for Kristen, Tim, and Aidan Pearce]