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