Ink And Reason

Sometimes I come to you, mute stone,
my heart primed to weep,
to let my blood spill into memories,
to call you from the earth, to hear you.  
But I stand, and instead of tears – air,
instead of you – just a silent void.
I wait for the ache, to see you,
to talk to you, to feel you,
and yet, often, you’re nowhere.