Across a clock face,
Is the same curve
A falling star makes.
I don’t know why
This matters to me
Or why God allows me
To see such things.
But you understand
When I don’t
The type of things
People want;
My psyche has shadows...
Crannies and scars
And no rainbow--
My spectrum
Is black bars.
I’m sorry, Love,
I dampen your eyes
And deepen your pain
With dark surmise;
Sometimes our stars
Don’t align...
It’s hard loving
A man who writes;
And I know it’s not fair
To stay up nights,
Away from you
In a white circle
Of light.