The Absence of Wavelength

night is hung

i view you as if for the last
is it the last?

i listen light
heart tightening
clutched for you

i yearn hold holographic vision
before revision

i touch soft singular screen
pixeled vision fading

i savor again as you go out
licked light


on my porch joined
cinnamon stick stirs a black tea

in rockers reclined, rest
dust creeps sour eyes stung, as night hung

to bed
shall i dream of you instead?


1.24.23
does it end here?
there's always a parting shot.

the past will be repast will be past
in this paste thickening

2.14.23 edited structure with couplets primarily instead of consistent three-line stanzas to eliminate need for punctuation in places calling for it. does it end here comment added as two lines.