missing

we cast about the night in dreams
unfound and not finding
those things whose loss
we feel the most
we are all of us lost things
beneath deep-ceilinged night
the ashes we keep high-shelved
gather dust and fade into things
meant only for night-dreaming
we hold open dearly held holes
where once they breathed
and no other shape belongs
save the silhouette of what was
in the harsh dawnlight we wake
from fitful, restive dreaming
missing the things we can’t recall

© Sarah Whiteley

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