Every Night

I reach out/stretch out my
fingers/soul to you.

Searching around in the dark/silence
seeking you in the old
places, where you no longer live.

I an tired now, from searching,
worn out/disillusioned.

Find me, I cannot find you.

No. 8.5

That old, old pain of love
never returned
touches me new
with its gentle fingers
No stab, just a
slow ache steals
over me, just
an old, familiar
malady.

No. 9

I caught a glimpse of heaven
today, on Brougham Street
Sun rimmed clouds, shafts of light

It stilled old grief, like a
finger on lips.