I miss what were barely beautiful, transparent, or transcendent moments
and thinking they could change my soul
I miss how my heart flipped under itself, over and under itself,
until it let itself start
Where will the lines I composed with steady faith
find themselves at the end of a night to magical to be anything other than illusion?
How does my heart beat, not knowing the place where it should rest
is further off than the longest quest?
Why do the wrong roads stretch themselves before me
like the stars…guiding my way home? When only darkness they leave?
These are all these questions that you ask yourself
in the missing of what you tried to be so patient for,
falling so slowly,
daring yourself only to let go
And you carry yourself through the torrential storm—
once again tripping over your own feet to delay the end
…and days and months become such a tangle, the path ever twisted
in the missing of what you thought would be the place you ought to be
in the missing of the one with whom you were supposed to dream
And in the missing of what you tried to conjure, beyond all imagination—
you must sigh and recall…that the love you’re still missing is your own after all…
Carrie Gilbert 2014