still.

I looked away
and you were gone
but my fingers somehow
feel you there
-the nothingness.
And though my heart peers,
perched
on the sill,
foolish, silly, still
it wills (it hopes!)
you into creation.
It wills (it hopes!)
that the shadow needs of
my desire conjure your figure,
loving living mire,
so I can see you just once more my dear.
Just once more
Just once more
Just once more
from this window, here.