He placed his heart
In drawing spaces;
Pen-and-ink caught places,
That held surprise,
As the world was
Through his eyes.

But the voice cutoff
Went silent,
Tears of sorrow,
Grieving violent,
For the eyes
Grown dim with cold,
That could not
Be bought or sold –

And now time
Sends dust and cover
O’er the one time
Friend, or lover,
Sketches left
On random paper,
That turn to vapor,

To the heart
That’s still bereft:
Naught but drawing spaces


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