I try to map heaven in your too clear eyes
as you languidly gaze into the
blind to all but the rivers within yourself,
and guided by landmarks I do not know
even after all these years.
Though our bodies seem to share a single breath,
you are not here.
Though we were once one,
we seem to be separate species
my heart bound to mutable pasts,
and yours lifted into futures
where I have no place:
I could hate you for that.
But why bother?