You are
 the epitome of distance
and I have become
the rumpled answer to
a question you never asked

Nature turned her back on us,
took her warmth and loving embrace
from our lives
and left us
bleached branches
washed up on a dreary shore

A finger
of wood
to jut into the sky
accusing God and his minions
of deceit
of abandonment

of telling lies


You do not weep
so often now
the tears you gave
so freely
I gathered into a cracked basin
to wash my face with each morning
for

your sadness
cleansed not only
my skin

Atonement
or abasement
I have neither
and offer no such simple solutions

I prefer to continue

for continuance
is a beam of
truth
pulling us back into synchronicity

You are
the epitome of distance
and I
the rumpled belief
you can hold onto
a little longer