Impressions
Linda Hindman Ionly miss where the ring has been Left thumb's automatic check is less and less. My finger has, three years later Stopped forming itself around leaving gold. Strange that there was no missing the man who pushed it on. Not having been around me Like the ring. I do not miss his ways. I never knew him Missed only what I needed him to be. Having grieved the living man to my heart's death For what was not there, what could not be More and less for two decades tears wrung me out. The best he gave was good: His daughters, And teaching them to love him as he is, I let them go. Perhaps they will not give up waiting. But camaraderie was not the Missing Dream that wore Hardened calluses beneath the ring But longing for life without lies Not even knowing love Reflected back like mirrors Does not decrease like silver moonlight But through the glass is magnified. Now tears are from sharpening iron Pure sparks of an honest man Who has not carelessly pushed a ring round my finger But bound my soul and ringed my heart So that I feel the shape of him When he leaves the room |