.

Is it for a friend

or for you

whom I moan for

inside each

holy moment,

each time

your memory

arrives?

~

You move

inside a circle

of which

I’m not allowed.

At one time.

No longer.

Yet, there are

as many circles

as there are souls—

like particles

each with space between—

never truly

touching.

~

Perchance to

break through

the space,

if allowed—

is it for a friend

or for you

whom I mourn for

inside of

my yearning

circle of which

you’re welcomed?

At one time,

and longer,

now inside

each holy moment,

each time

your memory

arrives—

never truly

touching.

~

by S.A. Bort / 26 July 2013