Long Distance

Wrote for my muse whom I miss every day.

It sings for him a cadence dearly,

thrumming in my chest.

I yearn for him and show up warring,

trying for my best. 

For him, I clear the clotted webs.

For him, I scrub her clean.

For him, it matters not who I am,

and neither where I've been.

He makes my meadows bud and bloom, 

he ebbs cold winter fear.

He makes the curling winds elude,

and storms not so severe.

When he is gone I face the bleak,

of trenches vast and hollow.

It fills me with a virile truth

that where he goes I'll follow. 

Where there's will, there's also want

and where there's want, there's aching.

I hope to God that I can stand

to miss him without breaking.