Ablative of Means


With turns of phrase,
by fondness and
via subtle kindness
I would say what I cannot tell —
and honestly, if possible:
not hindered by presumption
nor hamstrung by hope. No,
but through earnest sleight
I would that I could
cross your heart —
part of an artless effort
to know your effortless art.
It is your way, from which
I cannot loosen myself
and do not wish to.

And if one day you did but say
my name, quietly and to yourself —
even only once, and not a second time —
I could unknit my brow and carry on, lightly.
For even unheard, your voice is a love song,
and, unseen, your smile bright white wine.



One Comment

  1. I know the pain. It becomes more bearable with time, but it never goes away completely. Great poem!
    George A. Marquart

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