When those gates close
they think of you
and they despise parting
for footsteps of all else
they would rest to rust
forever if they must
they long for gusts
of familiar fragrance
riding on their wings
to mark your presence
but barren be zephyr
trumpeting no arrival
dousing hope’s fire
only in shadows loom
your memories my sire
no rendezvous at hand
I suffer psyche’s gloom
your visage forbidden
for long from my sight
and I must suffice
with dreams in the night
thus the gates close
shutting out all light
and they despise parting
for footsteps of all else
they would rest to rust
forever if they must