Why is it that my heart aches so
in the emptiness of silence,
in the stillness
of the world’s embrace?
Why is it that my lack
yawns greater
than the gentle fullness
of forgotten days?
What is it that you
touched
and woke
and stole away
so lightly?
Is it you I mourn
with black-edged thought,
the dogs of ‘what if’
snapping at my heels,
howling through the barren dark?
Or is it just my fledgling self
reflected in your eyes?