Where the nexus of exhaustion
and desperation exists,
where mingles ennui and hope,
where the land collapses
into the maternal arms of the sea,
where a bird and a fish may make a home,
where I last saw you happy
and flush with life,
meet me there.

I do not care as to the time or day,
whether it is at the crossroads
of day and night,
at the nebulous confluence
of the witching hour,
at the promising corner
of the morning rays.

Or, even as it is now,
at the middle of the day,
with just a few clouds in the sky
to hide us from plutonian judgement.
Meet me then.

I do not care what form you take,
a whisper at the shell of my ear, half-imagined,
half-ocean lamentation,
a touch at the crook of my arm, half-invented,
half-breezy heartbreak,
a waft of your perfume at the edge of my nose,
Half-contrived, and half-salty sorrows.

Or, as I see it now,
an image of you
at the corner of my eye,
half-formed,
and half-realized.
Stay with me now.