So, What Is It

(From Shelley, always a source of inspiration)
(for J. as above)

So, what is it
left unsaid?
Undone?

How could you have known
how much I'd miss your words.
I who said too little,
perhaps then, I
say too much.

And that I,
king of ice floes,
could be touched,
by the warmth of your words,
broken, and fear.

In a picture you painted, I was drawn in,
and my eyes would close in a red haze, to that ember,
and in dreams of a verdant grove where the green
light from the leaves shown radiant
you on a limb of a apple tree.

I carried that ember,
for, still, it is a human heart;
till that emberous flame fizzled,
dimmed in the damp;
out to the cold.

Damn verbiage.
Cursed form.
Monster,

that I am, return
to the waste places
of which I love,
and with love
returned.

Content
with my descent
over the fallen stone.
To build my pyre,
my substitute.

And sing
in guttural
throes.