basic-energy

like the snows of November, (lightly, timid in askance) you will return to me in due time; without fail—you will return (erstwhile) to me and my hesitant heart (retreating, retreating, retreating) will be a far-off beacon at dusk to your false ardor, a poetry of obdurate conceit —whose interval seems unceasing; All darkness and brooding winds You twine and spin in savage dance (quickening, hastening some new spell) But failing, failing … failing while this distance increases (curing past injuries); the suffering amid our pleading eyes (yours of forgiveness, mine for freedom)