circle

[autumn_tulips]

Surely the strangest thing for me to say but that I am missing,
there is an absence that I do not identify as absence,
rather a
divisive closure that I see now existing
outside of me. The circle is closed;
my body and mind are saved.

Yet
some strands of meaning
have stopped short,
suddenly, pulled up
at a station far behind me
that I am chugging
away from every day.

Some meaning is lost, new
meanings generate
themselves.

Instead of the lost hand
slipping its arms around me, I have my scarves.
I don't have stubby fingers to
moan about anymore.
The only fingers on me
are my own, not long, but
shapelier fingers.

I think I've missed you
sometimes, the ghost of you
slipping away quiet
as a ghost,
just back there behind
the corner of my eye, receding
from the background of square-tiled
floors and
odds and
ends.

Amidst the scraps of papers and files, the dogears you've left behind.

I am still stretching out towards that day,
knowing it will never come.
You have
my heart        not the right
to possess it.
I am still disappointed.
I wish against all hope
against that.
       I am still wishing,
at the edges of my fragments.

You are a vanishing
point to which my thoughts run
and from which my thoughts have begun.

Meaning is irredeemable
without you.
You form another sphere
of the world, making us
together, world-
historical.
But with you,
I am small,
I am slipping,
I am scared.

You help me shed my discipline;
I do not know what I help you with.