Unseen

"I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against the want of you..." - Amy Lowell

Day so long
like a fever abed.
Verse - no song.
You, in my head,
lone visage -
you here
and you not.
Breath comes
hot - a curtain
at the mercies
of wind
before storms.
Left to my own
space in between
where everything
is and not
what it seems.
Echoing air,
uncoiling of mind
unfurling,
unleashing
on whatever
it finds
in the fever,
the dream,
the lover,
unseen.