With you gone

When you went away,
the spring left from
my backyard, the sun was
pouring heat in my space,
burning the plants, from
the soft green to a pale
yellow. My house, transformed
into a pyre.

The crows had their beaks
open for a drop of water
from the exhausted heaven,
trees failed to offer
a comforting shade of love.

I knew, almost instantly,
that a year later,
when my space will
again be in full bloom,
nature will be on fire,
spring will not return
to me, I will have the sun
smoking my heart.
I will see the fuming star
drying my barn.

On a full moon night,
I will sense the inevitable
darkness, with you gone,
will I be forever forlorn,
despite the chirps of the birds,
the songs of the breeze, I will
be doomed in a deafening
silence; if I don’t hear your
moving steps in my courtyard,
your voice in the homestead,
of what use is the spring then,
if I do not caress your
touching presence.