Missing

Many, a multitude in fact, show up missing:
feelings, yearnings, memories and ideas of get-togethers sometime soon.
This morning, the meditation went something like this
longing is the core(…)your desire must be disciplined
and so I let them be away from me, in ways
I cannot fathom maintaining much longer than
this day, hour or moment.

What I miss cannot be calculated or concretely named though
I suspect all the ghosts and now remnants fit
inside the same body, the body I quit acknowledging
months ago because simple faith, no longer sensical, went away
with other novelties, delicacies and comforting things.

She is what I miss: her body so beautifully becoming with mine,
though not restricted by my stunts, stops or short-comings, her gracious
g*d-like and God-less rises, her fierce and fiery falls. She used to
breathe into my lungs until I would cry out her name. She used to know
I was looking into her, all of her, and would thank me until I cried myself empty.
Her rivers seeped through the cracks of my toes;
her branches balanced my hanging torso:
back and forth, high and low, all night long.
She reached into me outside a pool in Costa Rica and ferociously pushed me
on a dance floor in downtown San Francisco. She wrote poetry to
me in the hills of Oak Glen and sang soft hymns, lulling me to sleep, in Claremont.

Her people once wrestled with her story in a book.
They wrote “certainly mercy and goodness will follow me
all the days of my life.” I pray they knew what they were talking about,
that I might find her, creeping, laying low, right behind or beneath me.
Then desire and discipline will disappear in each other as we re-unite—
missing no longer maintained.