Far Point
I see, blurred, the farthest point at which you stand,
a speck on the horizon, growing ever far;
the farthest point of reference whereby sky merges land,
the microscopic frost beneath the Polar Star.
And, palpably, my heart it bemoans, cries pulmonary tears,
and my fingers, twitch, talon grasp in vain;
the fallen past, fresh as paint, vividly appears
to ghost me with sweet knives of love and pain.
I see, opaque, the farthest point at which you wave,
and plead your mind, not upheaval, and thus forget
your component place from cradle to the grave,
you stand the crucial part of me I cannot surrender yet.
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