Your dire love
and my bleeding heart are, now, distant,
like the nearest star and my sitting presence
on a red brick porch near Live Oak;
like the silver line of lights
just before morning,
and what is to be called midnight.
watching for you,
but the drowsy sun is fast approaching,
rising from its hiding with,
or without, you.
The see through blue of morning skies are here now.
The moon's paper like reflection is barely noticeable.
I am still waiting for your love, however faint,
that fast dropping feeling within,
though we are distant and miles apart;
my porched presence and the nearest star.