I still follow that ghost of a whisper, or a breath
Across continents, through yielded stone and death
Your will, still spans earth, and space, and time
Encased in gold and silver but precious by design -
Indeed, more precious for the absence of sense, and light,
And yet, you still remain that dark, fair mistress of my dreams
That blurred far-focused figure that never sleeps nor eats
All these long-weary years – my Cyrene
I’m still waiting to watch you eat
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