Modern Romanticism

I have been,
constantly
removing your presence
from a heart
that went sour,
at our ending –
an ending of ours,

as you were focused
on a direction, directionless,
while shoulders
are given wind,
given storms.

I’ll cry
until that moon
find its way
across, and sets
with the sun.

I’ll wonder why,
knowing that I’ll continue.
I’ll continue on,
releasing hopeless sighs
to loosen springtime seeds.

Perhaps your face
will appear in a puddle,
on that I’ll step inside
to see if you’ll abide
in having me,
at your side.