poem 28

counting the stars,
resplendent in that purple blanket,
indigo intangible,
somehow i miss one constellation,
trackless it leaves me
yearning for that once-was-constantly.
deeper the night embraces me
in its blanket of mist
mingled with cicada dirges,
apostrophe of soul,
yet leaving me in spiritual tears,
aching for one familiar smile.
threnodies are my sole concertos,
absence my line partner in the waltz
dying with the night;
invisible, the wounds [...]

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