I look at you -
and you were.
Light.
I look
into the darkness -
and you were.
Beautiful.
The forgotten dog
still barks
at the drums
of calling
from the hilltop
where you...
were.
You were afraid
of the abyss
in the fog
grown over
our valley
of tomorrow.
Far away.
I touch you,
I call you
now,
now,
now -
and no,
no,
you were.
When
will you
always
have been?
And you were.
Close.
Alone.
Never seen.
Between you
and dream.
Suffocated
by the sand
of the hourglass,
never a clock,
Now
sleeps.
It is cold where you were
beside me
here
just now.
Cuius es?
The Timid Making: a Strangled Trilogy
published