The hollow of the hour where shadows cling,

I offer up the reverence that silence brings,
To the altar of a love now draped in gray,
Where sorrow drinks the light of day.

The weight of heavy breaths, the anxious tide,

With nowhere left for broken hearts to hide;
Yet in the shaking pulse, the weeping deep,
I cultivate the quiet that must keep.

To love is not to hold with desperate hand,

But trace the shifting patterns in the sand;
And in the ache of letting go the vine,
I find a secret, sacred and divine.

For in the solitude, the truth is clear—

The absence is a mercy, drawing near;
To love is sometimes stillness, understood:
To loose the heart, as only wisdom should
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