Aubade

Aubade in May

         for Gare

In the beginning you rose in the East.
At the end of time I set in the West.
Eternity lay long between us.

I woke up feeling ill. I always feel ill. Sometimes I want to call you; sometimes write. I dream of adventures we could take together. I wake fearful of destroying those illusions. The day lies long between us. I empty my thoughts of wants; then, attend to the needs of the moment. Your absence stands there with me.

At the end of long days, I enshroud myself with the gloaming. And through the nightmares await the dawning of your rays. And when the moment passes by without you, I write these sad aubades. What is the word for what can never be, for what will never go away.

Your presence, absent. It has been five years. What then are five generations, five turns of galaxies we've cruised through. Time bends back upon itself. Yet, years lay long between us.

I fall asleep exhausted; I wake up ill again. I almost call your name; I sometimes do. And when I do my words are spoken with a lilt; their weight penned slow in ink.

And you are rising resplendent in the East.
And I am setting unlamented in the West.
Unspoken words lie long between us.

© 2008 Kåre Enga [165.57] 2008-05-08

Edited from my Journal, page 1656, May 8, 2008.

A prose poem ~230 words.

In blog "Aubade, May 8th."