Marion Strobel

From “That Year”

THE DAYS wear thin with longing—

There is a warmth in emptiness.

My palms have pressed so long

Against the fragile surface

Of these lonely hours—

Almost I touch your fingers,

Almost

I hear your voice.

I stand in the shadow of your absence

Looking through windows of sunlight:

Soon—soon you will be fashioned

Out of my longing,

You will live from the breath

Of my desire.