Hole in the world

There is a hole in the world where you once were,

a gap of such dimensions it cannot ever be missed,

and yawns in cavernous gaping, like some shocking

smile, smashed open, holding to eternal edges, where

 

my heart hovers by the threatening boundaries of

the abyss, and my mind huddles to one side, every

now and again, peeping into that darkness, as if in

an unexpected moment, I could see you there again;

 

as if I could find your shape deep inside that chasm,

and then, pull it back into place, haul it from the lair,

where it had been hiding, lost to sight, disappeared

into that bunker of time, that grotto of grief which had

 

claimed it, and broken the world I had known asunder,

wrought that fathomless depth with its wounded mouth,

destined to remain open, silent, mocking, keening in

a voice which echoed through memory, and which spoke

 

always of what once was and might never be again,

now that you were lost on the other side of that hole

in the world I once knew, where only your desire could

see you clamber back through, and close it up again.