do not cry tonight, my love, for the empty space
we try to fill with busy paper shuffles and
all of those things that bring us stress.
do not cry tonight, my love, for the heavy
deeps our our eyes that burn when closed,
flicker when open, blink at random as if we
forgot that we were staring straight ahead
and yet seeing nothing.
do not cry tonight, my love, for empty beds,
empty hollows carved out of pillows,
waiting to cradle our tired bodies.
do not cry, tonight, for the empty glow
of a quiet room in the rain, where blankets
and pillows and sweatshirts and dim lights
seem prickly and cold when they are not shared.
you may weep tomorrow or yesterday, lament or wail like the psalms
in our own way. you may feel the tears of a world too hard
and heavy for your own frail shoulders. you may beg for home,
as a place or as a person or as an emotion. you may sit quietly in
stifling aloneness, shed a tear for the weight of the world,
even for me.
but tonight, love, do not cry.
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