Advent

If I could see my way
clear
to another point of view
these green eyes would be
far more sanguine
and shine like Christmas lights
on a dark winter Thursday
as my unasked questions freeze,
a glittering rime,
waiting for another, righter time
I still can’t foresee.

I wonder how you managed
to ensconce yourself so casually
in rooms I thought I’d closed tightly,
wisely,
forgetting that this is me, and that
I always leave the keys
dangling in the lock
in my absent-mindedness,

in my mindfulness of your absence,
I pretend I am not watching clocks
and counting heartbeats,
lost between the ticks that match that
tugging at the corner of my eye and the
other in my scarlet cheek
and in the quiet that echoes
my beaten heart
I feel the sharp point of you.

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