sometimes in the fog
there is sensing
that something sacred lost
has taken form
yet irretrievable still
across the bridge
too narrow
for anything but song
and light
to pass

and dream gets left
to dream
yet wide awake
and ever nocturnal
in the heart
and silence mutes itself
with patient observation
that erupts only
as the star
that sometimes falls
to fall in love with wish
or the sea that hides its cry
in the song the waves have sung
for the one that crashed

I have adored you
these centuries
never as the muse
that is grateful
to the canvass
but on the other side
of things
the ghost of shadow
more than the paint
the hand might one day
bring to life

I have loved you
as the inspiration
I have drawn to breathe
with the fragrance of you
always spilling from my lungs
in these only words
that maybe
will find their way
across
the bridge
I cannot cross