You are only the longing
that wants back what it seeks.
You seal the earth once friable
beneath a sheath of ice
so the boot heel leaves no mark.
The sun does not last the day
it bears glistening into being.
I have held out for you
in belief that you meant it so,
that your plaint of needs
would echo my constancy
as a disciple would hear it.
I cannot reach your lowest rung.
You have gathered all light
for another and death that sticks to it.
You leave only this—
beauty that yearns for my gaze
to fill the void once your heart.