like the lake laps at the shore
and stretches languid like a rug
thick and weighted on the surface,
I hope you are, up above,
with a weight of cloud to blanket
and cocoon your tired frame
even could be that you're dreaming!
in that new fantastic plane
have you swum laps through the sunset
have you found yourself some time?
is She beautiful as Her images
that walk this world of mine?
have they shown you round the stars
cut the veil with a knife?
is death a languid nothing
maybe just a second life
or maybe like a single story
written out with different pens
when one of them runs empty
doesn't mean the story ends
have you come upon the coda
reached where all begins anew?
seen the maestro flick his wrist
and the whole thing start on cue?
because either way
i miss you