Modern Romanticism

I am astir. I am present,
shadowed into you,
the loveless who dried herself
before me, of all her tears
from earlier years.

You have helped yourself
breathe in, among winds,
within the tracing
of distant sands,

as I have, in your grace
given myself even space,

while clouds are our quilts,
the blue of the sky
being a memento to grief
that love can undo.

Desertion has told you,
during wishful moments
that you were carrying
cradles, with missing life.

Being here, to hold you,
telling you that kisses are
meant for the swollenness,
in your despairing eyes.

You have wanted
what the world overlooked,
in your time. You have listened,
though only heard
your own heartbeat,

struggling to know when
the shadows will come apart,
like the darker of these clouds,
above our whirling minds.