This Space

Seen, in that furtive glimpse,
A bruised and fragile dove,
That hobbles and that limps,
As one abandoned by love.
What bridge?

And again that old recoil,
A knot writhes in the soul,
The threads ever embroil,
Neither pardon, nor parole.
What may?

These were the eyes that saw,
The contours of my shadow,
In sacred gaze, in Holy awe,
A troth, a trust, to bestow.
What now?

And again, I see her shine,
Through iron neural bars,
This sacrament, this sign,
This wishing on the stars,
This space.

And grief through life and love,
The wedding and the funeral,
The bruised and fragile dove,
Both Hades and auroral,
What now may bridge this space?

Pining angelic,
Staring,
Across this space.