This morn, I can write the saddest lines.
Lines that would make Neruda weep,
for kindred souls that feel loss
seek each other,
find each other,
speak to each other.
In the distance the birds are singing,
and I seek the wind for my words
to carry over the miles,
beyond her surface denials
and fill her soul with smiles
as I once did.
The blue stars shiver in the distance,
trembling with still felt passions
in the endless skies
as I sit and write
thinking of her eyes.