Penmanship

I'll know I have loved you
when it’s not merely
the sound of your voice
or the brush of your hand
that quickens my soul so.

But the shape of the letters
that form your sweet name –
meaningless in any other form.

I’ve studied their curves.
Taken comfort in their lines.
Written them in permanent ink
on the very folds of my being.

Am I allowed to miss someone who doesn’t even exist? Not any more, anyway.

How many tears were shed in anguish this day?

Oh, that they might make swell a salty sea to bear your ark gently unto a far better world.