Sonnet #18: Lines Scrawled on the Return Half of a Bus Ticket

My arms feel empty, after holding you
These many hours—brief as now they seem;
Like waking from the splendor of a dream
To find the dreamed-of vanished back into
His unseen realm of the ethereal.
As gleam of moonlight in a shrouded sky,
These days shone forth among the rest; and I
Saw in our parting my sure burial
In longing: heightened thus, and not fulfilled.
But welling from the depths, I find instead
A reservoir of peace: my heart is filled,
My spirit nurtured, my desires fed;
And I can sleep again, the clamor stilled
By your warm presence cradling my head.

September 20, 1992

Copyright ©1992, 1999 by Erica Schultz Yakovetz. All rights reserved.
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