A time, in a life, of a person, on a rock, in the universe. 

A life that has moved 

on from me;

A surround 

of cottony clouds 

on the bluest day. 

Away, was always 

their intention.

Cannot fault them for that. 
A sadness, in subtle hum

as I sit among treasures. 

Breath so gilded. 

And, I do not know 

what evaporates gold,

but it must run true in me. 

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