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.