Loss

At dusk the sky is changing.
You look up at the full moon,
bright against the fading sky,
and ask me where I've been.

It is still early. Darkness is coming:
with bare branches you beat it back
and wait for me,
stark and silent with longing.

There is no winter here
yet the trees shed leaves like tears,
sharing your unbearable sadness.

Now you are but a shadow
cast upon the ground,
scattered and shuddering
from the loss of your spirit.

(or is it only your heart?)


"then solitude flows with the rivers..."
- Solitude, Rainer Maria Rilke

it's always summer in singapore.