Two Weeks Out
My then new love and I were doing a long distance dance. I found that two weeks apart was about all I could really stand.
My memory of you moved
from its home in my heart
to a place in my head.
It had grown too cold there without
the warmth of your arms around me,
your smile sunshine,
your rock solid heat.
The daily ration of your voice
relieves the sting of the cold;
but is inadequate fuel
to heat
so spacious a home.
The place in the mind is vacant, indifferent.
Nothing there nurtures, and
nothing there harms.
A safe.
The memory placed there.
Trust that it will be retrieved and restored to
its proper home again,
becomes now a simple article
of blind
faith.
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