Dance of Deficit
Barga, Italy.
No thing miss takes.
Not the paintings on the walls,
Dominating me
Not the restless sleep down the hall,
Mocking me
Nor the missing you,
Here with me
No time unfolds imperfectly.
When the last song ends
on the same note as weightless legs landing,
The ground refuses
Torrential hope hardens
Heaviness pursues
That open wound:
A dance of deficit that becomes the next song.
