like a lake open to a red moon
i am open to the wealth of you, collected in spirit
at the silent home of my knowing.
i separate you strand by strand and stand alone
only to reminisce with your indivisibility.

i knew it would be you reminding me,
from inside, just what i'm like.
that golden-haired little boy
has waited to hold your hand and sigh.

forgetting is such a weightless measure
and remembering is so tearfully heavy,
but truth is the only light bright enough
to keep away the chill dark of dissolution
which threatens me from my edges.