I'm missing you,
one of a million things to do,
the order of I'm ticking off the way I please and chose.
My time is, consumed.
I've lost the words,
they spun on heel and chose to walk,
they found a better vacant place where there was time to talk.
They'll be back.
For nobody, I think,
could quite do this,
without accepting they'd lose their grip -
On routine things, for a little bit.
And while you gaze amiss,
while dust and hours lay to rest,
every day I pinch myself that I have managed this.
to paint what someone else has saw,
in vivid minds-eye storybook and dreams held high aloft.
To grasp and climb a ladder sky of water, ink and words.
That's magic, is it not?
I'm missing you.
I wouldn't swap.
I know that you'll come soon enough.
You are not gone, I am not lost and I have not forgot.