If you were gone
beyond a hundred hills
into the misty ruins of past
or mirthful heavens' bliss
your footprints strewn
with fallen blooms of spring
bleached by nine summers' suns
soaked by autumn's black puddles
eroded under ice
my soul would search you still
roam lost blue skies
to glimpse your morning star
wander the endless shoreline between hope and lethe
to hear a whisper from your shell of heart.
(for D.)
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