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Aborition

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I

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A subtle stalker cloaked in dawn light becomes

a thief of darkness stealing hope. Vainglorious,

flaunting deftness and wit to pinch that which

should remain. Like death, a premature purloining,

as if a child has died or a family heirloom taken

without consent. In awe, in aborition and wet

wonder, I stand yearning in your wake.

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II

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Morning should bring light. What is this fog,

this descended cloud of ennui and foreshadow?

Pilferer, you know not what you pocketed. The value

was derived from many hours of walking around

existing. I would have prefered that you pinched

something else, somewhere else, not now, but

some time else.

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III

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Dreams are like that. You want them back

as soon as they fade. The emotional feasting

lingers and you know it was good. Waking

killed dreaming and all that is left

are the yearnings of aborition. I stand

desperately wanting that which is impossible

to recapture. No ransom will be asked

because time is a clever lad.

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IV

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Heartache. Simple. An honest emotion

with connotations of loss devoutly

wished found. Like Wile Coyote staggering

in the clouds of The Road Runner's

swift and unanticipated passage. Shock

is the humorous outcome; yet alas, gone

too soon. Way too soon. Hungered, he aches

for that which has been abducted.

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V

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I stand inside the action of a new noun,

devout inside gleaming aborition. Half a

wave and fair winds pause mid articulation

since what is hidden can never be subject

to au revoir or a bientot. In aborition,

I end this poem so that you may wish

for more and say it ended prematurely.

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Lady A

04-20-17

1121a

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