Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.

-w.s. merwin

These Hours

These are the hours that drive me mad-
the splinters of early morning,
the eerie peace of gestating day,
the maddening tick of the clock
in an otherwise swell of silence-
where I think of you
in another man’s arms
and the sadness you will feel
when these hours no longer move me.

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Poetry doesn't belong
to those who write it,
but to those who need it.

-Mario Ruoppolo