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(unable to measure the distance)


Though you have not called to me to lie beside you,

I have lay in the grasses and dreamt the clouds

Would soften to pillows for your sleep,

And pictured your face in an eastern light of morning.


I have stood, alone, hearing voices at the feet of birds.

My arms have stretched to force the clouds to hold their shape.

Then, I have prayed that the bells would ring,

And that, I would be unable to measure the distance to you.


Now, I have come to the spot where distance begins.

My hand surrounds the length of your shadow,

Each whisper is loud enough to frighten

And a movement may be too meaningful.


Even the shoreline moves to conform to the weight of a pebble,

As the ripples have pushed to expand the water outward,

And then, my heart plunged from among the stars,

So your reflection in the lake waters would feel the splash.


As the first violin produced a counter-melody,

As the beat of the drums framed the mistro's brush,

Pascal's Cannon painted a picture between vibrations

Of your cheeks streaked by a teardrop's rush.


Though on my knees, I have not found the forgiveness of worship,

Nor the loyal confession of servitude.

I have not peeped through the keyhole, or begged for dimes,

But, I have viewed your face against the backdrop of the clouds.


Standing behind the protection of the window's pane,

I cannot feel the rage of the thunder in the sky,

Nor know the gentle kiss of the falling leaf,

But I look into an eternity without your image.


                                                                                   ~~~ by Michael Chaussee



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