to measure the distance)
you have not called to me to lie beside you,
have lay in the grasses and dreamt the clouds
soften to pillows for your sleep,
pictured your face in an eastern light of morning.
have stood, alone, hearing voices at the feet of birds.
arms have stretched to force the clouds to hold their shape.
I have prayed that the bells would ring,
that, I would be unable to measure the distance to you.
I have come to the spot where distance begins.
hand surrounds the length of your shadow,
whisper is loud enough to frighten
a movement may be too meaningful.
the shoreline moves to conform to the weight of a pebble,
the ripples have pushed to expand the water outward,
then, my heart plunged from among the stars,
your reflection in the lake waters would feel the splash.
the first violin produced a counter-melody,
the beat of the drums framed the mistro's brush,
Cannon painted a picture between vibrations
your cheeks streaked by a teardrop's rush.
on my knees, I have not found the forgiveness of worship,
the loyal confession of servitude.
have not peeped through the keyhole, or begged for dimes,
I have viewed your face against the backdrop of the clouds.
behind the protection of the window's pane,
cannot feel the rage of the thunder in the sky,
know the gentle kiss of the falling leaf,
But I look into an eternity without your image.
~~~ by Michael Chaussee