It's late August and I am grateful
for the you that is more gossamer than spectre
The irony of your power to be both everything and nothing
is not lost on me
But then again, neither is the memory or rather, the photograph of the memory
What's the appropriate length of poem for a man you have never met?
Whatever makes up the opposite of a shadow has almays covered me
Saying "I miss you" feels like a foolish way to name this kind of ache
You can want to, but you can never really capture essence
Only light
beautiful 🥀