Go Easy. I havent written a poem for years. I lost the art writing Lit Crit.
Without you, when the sun shines, my heart aches with the heady perfumes of Spring. Without you, when it is Winter and night, and the sky is clear and visible, like insignificance, I seek out signs that precipitate desires, shooting stars, constellations even, that suggest an order to hope.
Without you, in the street, I seek out lucky pennies to wish on and I wish magpies a good day, whenever I see less or more than two.
Without you, I hoard my luck. No lottery, or bets. no games of chance, even flippant bets to hit the waste paper bin are passed up. I hold my breath, the pennies held tightly in my hand, to be spent with you.
And hope as well, I save my hope like luck, a precursor to the real and not lost and frittered away.
My hope is a declaration of action, of love and doing; an emptying of the blue from the sky into my lungs and life, open and ready.
Without you happy sad because without you leads to with you and without is presence banishing fear of nothing with the potential for everything; with you.