Phantom fire, flickers corralescent from
The high beam headlights, dancing
Up trees and around the midnight sky,
Flashing images of firelight, fluttering
Burning butterfly, flicking specks of hot
Burning sparks spitting into deepest night
Yet still this thought remains as plane
Tail-lights carve shark-fins in the gloom,
No matter how cold the early morning
Night outside, regardless of the lack of
Sleep, the early mornings and days of
Mental gymnastics and polite talking sales
To get something shoed into place, sans
Shoe-horn, still, despite the never-quite
Comfortable sleep in empty-sided hotel
Bed, still, despite the distant enhancing
Screen showing your beautiful face,
Reminding me how far apart we really are,
Still, my love for you and your love in
Return warms me like the cold fluttering
Of empty white light headlamps never
Could, my love, for you and I are one.