She dwells where silence learns to sing, Where seconds bow before her name. I walk in circles made of thought, Each step repeats the same refrain. I miss her presence, not presents — no, Though all I own I’d lay it down. I am past tense within her sentence, A broken clause she struck from sound. I loved her being, not her having, Loved her why beyond her how. Now I’m an argument unproven, Seeking truth, but missing now. Miss — miss — missy — The word returns, the wound remains. Miss — miss — missy — Each breath insists upon her name. “Become who you are,” the echo cried, Yet echoes starve without reply. If I was shaped by her repeating, Who am I when she passed me by? If life returns eternally, Why did she pass but only once? If fate demands my full devotion, Why does it answer with a loss? I tried to love my fate sincerely, To kiss the hand that made me kneel. But fate bestowed her briefly, cruelly, Then taught my heart what absence feels. Miss — Miss — missy— Even my silence sings her name. Miss— Miss— missy — Each prayer collapses just the same. If love is ethics, I failed the proof. If truth is joy, then joy is gone. If God is everywhere at once, Why is she nowhere I stand upon? My will persists , Yet strains toward what it cannot hold. I move, therefore I suffer still, A pulse that aches to be made whole. I would trade my freedom, pride, and spine, My learned strength, my practiced grace, Just to be unforgotten by her again, Just to exist within her gaze. Not wisdom — no. Not peace — not light. Only her return, or endless night. I Miss — miss — missy — Say it slow, then say it fast. I Miss— miss— missy — Present wound, eternal past. I miss — miss — missy — Let my voice be torn and true. I do not beg for heaven’s crown — I beg for her, as lovers do. Missy is not here. Missy is not gone. Missy is the measure of my time, The distance that my days are on. Miss Missy
