sometimes I worry
you will never come back if
ever were you here

a seed of magic
planted, watered; I waited
bathed it in sunlight
yet nothing breaks the surface
grows not by my love alone

nocturnal numbing
orphaned by time and nature
waiting for my Spring

not broken, shattered
death to preciousness inside
cannot be repaired

the whippoorwill calls
nights spent at Takahanga
childhood's July

surrounded by fog
wading through, it weighs me down
absorbing sun, yet
I'm unable to see the
light, I continue to drown

my fingers, they ache
so cold, so close to breaking
lifeline trapped in ice