And again, the affable resurgence.

I am not used to love,

nor used to Love. It spills

out of my eyes in tears, yes,

but also I am found

amid the ruins of myself,

longing for more of Her,

of you.

So here I reach back

to you, dear.

I am sorry for my loss.

I am not used to this,

am used only to indifference,

and when the Sun turns to face me,

I can only look away

until Night cuts me down,

and I remember you again.