How long
have I yearned
for human response
when to hear your voice
eternity would melt.

My grandmother
with whom
my sensibility
died alongside,
may long for me the same.
As beds undone
and soil unturned
wake her
from death’s sweet peace.

Indian girl,
with face of an angel
how hard is it
to compose your edges
into smooth
seamless stories
of gleam and glory?
You do.
And you have.
Lasted longer
than my depth
of spoil will allow.

If in only one hidden gasp
I thy soul to touch
My heart would hold forever
your hand within my own.

I care not
about stories of old
when feelings anew
rapture disappointment.

It is hope
It is you
who within my leaping gaze
holds my heart
in tempestuous tow.

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