Arbitrary Junctures

Oftentimes I'd hear you say…Bless you wherever you are. Anchored to those words and melded to the latent night, I begin to wonder how long it is that you have been gone. This journal entry only amplifies your absence. Recently I thought I saw you in a vision, writing at your table in the abraded light. Addressing the explicit tilt of ideas swarming inside as the evening fell. Steeped in a meditative solitude, you bore witness to fundamental shifts in the dark reaches of your psyche. Enclosed in that world that housed your singular voice, fragments of distraction slowly cohered to a structured whole as you began to write. And that image becomes something I desire, because you are not here. Oddly enough, in this late hour, I feel a revelatory charity that stretches beyond simple happiness. Something that is difficult to express, sustains me. It seduces me still. I glance over at your chair. Its silent form is seriously beautiful. For a spell I watch its long graceful shadow as it grows at length against the candle's flare. At arbitrary junctures the properties of some things bear sweet joys as we lean a little closer into their mysterious authenticity. Longing hovers here in this private life, becoming something I can turn to, something I can use as I wait around for certain circumstances to align themselves.