Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Sunday, March 20, 2005


The pull of the moon
was never a rival
to the pull of you
on nights with no sleep
your pull was a lifeline
to hold close through
distance, days and nights,
the reflection of a candle
ricocheted from an east coast
somewhere toward the center
and back again, the place
where I was and held nothing
but random hours to meet
with a rhythm or the cadence
of a phrase and the perfect
So like the reluctant
phantom that you were,
only now fill the aching
empty soul that was mine.
Every word, thought,
spoken or dreamed holds
no candle to this touch
felt when you love me;
you are my center of
a universe, richer even
now than sixty seconds past.

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