as was foretold
in still unfinished words of old
through emptied days
cloudless skies
each desert night
stars drained of every dream
and through mad-making moons
the color of your hair
days wax hard to bear
the press of every long sequestered wish
the days revealing all new mystery
yet only the one story to be missed
and slow the world turns its way
and faint the music of each far wrought wind
these winds that carry something yet of you
sing only of some idea of time
yet leave me breath to wish and wait anew
A new poem for The Poetry Pantry
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