The Abandoned Vigil


the Moon is the only one who

sees me,

but in its muted beauty, it cannot

guide me.

It shows many paths,

but can’t walk with me

hand in hand,

its gray and freezing craters

a poor excuse

for gazing into eyes that never fail

to hold me rapt,

determined to plunge

their unfathomable depths,

understand the inscrutable beauty

they possess.

I want to greet her like a friend,

kiss her in the amber candlelight

and fruited incense.

Yet if i do, on the instant I will know she is no fantasy,

and I will feel her wrath at a perceived slight

I meant as no such thing.

So I will keep my illusion

by keeping my distance,

content to watch

the dance of flame and shadow

on her dimpled cheeks,

and halo her shimmering hair.

To close my eyes

and imagine the scent of honeysuckle

laced with myrrh.

Imagine the worn, ancient contours of these

cold unyielding pillars to be the

warm and hilly curves of her young, yielding form.

Believe her enchanting incantation

is but a serenade

declaring her love for me.

It is a love of great and terrible distance,

felt all the more keenly for being so near.


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