I speak of it often
for what it teaches me,

beyond the senses
of its own despair,

I know it derives
an unspeakable certainty

of an elusive light-
hope, divine eternal joy

in the naked isolation
where my heart resides.

Yesterday, a reverie
of promises yet unpromised,

a miracle to heal
yet unbroken brokenness.

That is love yesterday
or tomorrow, not now.

Tonight, as you turn from me
I grasp the soft darkness

of love's osmotic shadow-
thin as air, heavy as stone.

Today, what is it that
is finally so helpless, different,

despairs of its own statement,
wants to turn away, endlessly..

and spill into the acknowledgment
of the fixation I begin with now.