every time your lids meet—
I take note of every veiny scrawl;
every feathery lash that twines upward
the careful details that veil your intermittent
attempting to articulate the vast acumen of your being
to see a splinter of
the dusky gray you spoke of
of the stillest and gentlest manner
of the tampering fog of forgetting
of the quixotic paradox of hoping for someone
that will simply hold you—
but let you go.
but simple feelings
rise and fall like the tides
changing as with the sequences of the moon.
how can you trust a coming and going of the wind…
are doors to the soul.
I plead for explanation from yours.
but the harmonious array of refractions lay concealed
again, I cling to questioning, observant of your closed