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