One Substance

The boom in the pub below
the lower concrete deck
speaks of packed crowds and neon,
smell of beer, jostling, all
the young are here,
		and they are laughing.

I am silent, still, thinking,
the empty place inside gnawing
at severance: you down the
far end of a railway track -
me waiting for you to come back.

Strange choice strange fate
that we both agreed to separate
without meaning to, and now
I do not know your hours,
do not know your minutes

with their careful weather
which I watch and tend -
living flame - indivisible we
one thing remain and I will not
give you up to the power of
		circumstantial whim

however seriously meant.  What we
have defies the grave, drinks-in
clouds and air, sits in summer
parks, makes us kin and close
too precious just to drift away.

I hope your heart can hear me say
the words you know, I hope your
skin can feel my hand -
our thrift of time can only sew us
a fresh garment to put on
		one we can mend.
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