yet the purpose

be where you are
bright white golden star
from afar a place
I barely cannot embrace
because you know I am not gone
to hurt ever lightly long
in longing for you in my heart
yet the purpose quietly
rattles reason readily simply
into simpatico sweetly sought
silently sympathetically sewn-
senseless angry phantoms
get to me, resenting me if only
the moon were the sun to shine
the flames of night on everyone,
then I would not be alone.