They do not fall,

these hearts of glass suspended

between frost and flame—

they ache for a hand that will

not come, or one waiting, still.

To soothe the soul

in a world where so little

is ever given.

Faded zinnia—

a letter I meant to send,

rests in silence.

Each dawn you arrive,

persistent in grayscale light—

gone again by dusk,

still, you teach me love endures

not in time, but in return.

I know what love is—

like the moon pulling at tides

it will never hold.

Weak vessel of mine,

read again as vain pretense—

heart sealed, no witness.