Despite the Sunlight


just too much sunlight today, she texts me:
heart all clouded and your absence a metric
fuck-ton millstone tied to my heart,   sinking
fast in the roiling waters of   .  .  .   absence
and I want your arms around me again
and now!          ten days?          isn’t that the precise
duration of eternity?          I’ll wait,
but you should know,     she tells me,     it’s killing
me under the longing of hours upon hours
and the hours each eternal in the gloom
despondent despite this harsh spring sun beating
down upon yellow daffodils and scarlet
tulips that hide leprechauns and pots of gold
worthless under this metric fuck-ton of absence.

David M Pitchford
22 March 2012

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