Must you always radiate, a lost and far off star? Must you always linger here, some pulse with-in my skin? The dark of the night, the lurker in the hall, the bathroom light left on and on. The shadows only shuffle, the days molt towards spring. The bright blossoms upon the bare bough. Must you veer so near, that ghost always threatening the quiet. The shelter of these dim thinkings. The petals already fallen from raw anticipation, the lonesome calling of another distant shine.
I do not expect to find you, wandering these still rooms. I do not expect to see you, looking to come in. The tangled webs clutter the porch, a history of winters in empty carapace. Clocks crawl and screens flicker, candles offered in multitudes every bled out minute. I wear the ache of never more like the wounds of never was, crowding out the corners, circling the sky. That touch that is always there, imagined out of time. That longing that you shed, shimmering in this dust.
You are there among the fundaments. You are a tenet in the listing, you are the way the words find the line. The subtle weight felt in the change of the weather, stacked in the kindling of my spine. I can not even ever try not to find you. I can not stare my way through the walls. And you are that day I'll never know, that name I can not say. I haven't the will to look away, though I see nothing but the night.