on thursday i have waited every day for a year and in the dark there are three lights. 

 

 

the last you will not take from me.

 

 

the

absence

is

made

of

starsandsilence

 

 

and movement leaves a line like a fine spun silk that remembers us to all we have been.

 

scars tilting with words spell the last of your hand,

pearled whites on the only blue

 

 

and i am lulled in tongues of you.