Without

No day goes by
No night can end
But weary I
Think of my friend
My peer my heart
My dear my life
My other part
My love my wife.
And where is she?
Do not ask that
She is not here
So let it be
All else is flat
And gray, and drear.

Plane

We scud across the white eternal plain
Whose rolling hills soon flatten into sheets;
Or skid along a bleached and endless main
Whose edgeless quality subtly defeats
My thoughts of measurement; or slip beyond
The world of men entirely, and slide
Through space and pure imagination fond.
Wherever we may be, the joyful ride
Turns terrible as soon as we descend
For that which seemed earth, sea, or perfect blank
Will always turn upon us in the end
Swallowing us who, coating each flank
Wherever we may look, with white and white
Refusing any hope of end-or sight.

Ache

I seek her absent in the evening air
As if the fall of night should conjure her
I know beyond a doubt she is not there
And yet I find I still must wish she were
Hoping against my inner certainty,
Pretending what I wish for might be true
Despite the fact I know it cannot be.
The couch bears only one that should bear two
The meals uneaten fill the bulging fridge
The hours lengthen when no voices speak.
And still it flits about me like a midge
I cannot see nor squash: the little squeak
Of unwarranted hope that will not die
Giving my longing soul the constant lie.

Missing

Some pains cannot be simply thought away
They linger in the soul, ready to strike
At little triggers that were once OK,
Especially the things you used to like--
A certain song, played at a certain time;
Something you used to stumble on, but can't;
A sound of feet; a high pitched ringing chime--
And all of them now feel a little scant,
Unfinished, like a frame without a door
Begging to be closed in winter. Now
These little moments shake you to the core
And there's no easy fix. If I knew how,
Be sure I'd share, but I can do no more
For you than for myself, which makes it less
Because I cannot offer you redress.