Poetry

When I miss you continually, are longing through the nights,
then it’s as if you are near with your soft cheek
and I think about how you bath, pray, are busy with poems
but there is some grief in the song of the doves
 
that continually sounds up out of the stripped tree
when outside stars shine blue-white in rows;
our love, your humanity keeps surrounding me
and I am constantly thinking and thinking about you.