in void of

like the oar behind the sail
afloat or the branches of
a tree behind the leaves,
missing has never been
as painful as the waves
kissing and leaving
the sand anew.

to the distance.
yes, from the distance.

as the moon fails
to kiss the earth.

that’s how the yard
of your blooming blossoms
became to be
the morning after.
beneath the shadow of dawn,
fog falling down.