Love Song for A Stranger

I’m undone. Loneliness has captured me.
Salt has lost its taste. I wilt; fingers pruning.
I gaze. I see nothing. I see dimly. I see again.
The ground is perpendicular to my body.
Gravity is a force, but how strong?
Enough to undo love? Love is a force,
but can it undo unknowing? Make more
out of a stranger than a face, a figure breathing?
Breathing at the wrong pace was my mistake.
I should have taken one less step.
I shouldn’t have crossed the boulevard, driven
the freeway. I shouldn’t have glanced to the left.
The doctor said I should have slowed down.
The pastor said I should have prayed.
So I lost. The moment. The ransom.
And you are gone. You are gone and I
love you, but I love you incorrectly,
like a poltergeist loves the rain, or like
the ocean loves its mysteries. Except
I am unworthy of holding you
like something windswept, or a passing shadow.
For all you could have been, you should at least
have this. Have all I never could be.