each sigh like a wish

High overhead,

White on black: 

Galaxies.

Milk strewn in swirls

Of suns, spun light,

An infinite

Shore,

Light years gone, distant

As thought

Of the world's end.

Unimaginable darks

Beyond these

Liquefactions of starlight.

Dark as the unfathomable

Darks of your eyes,

                            my tender one.

Where you sleep now, this night,

I imagine the bed.

The little stillnesses in your breath,

Each sigh like a wish.

I love you across the cold spaces

Of this world,

                    bereft of your voice.

Tonight I'm imagining

That you are imagining me.

[Richard Bausch {1945- } 'High Overhead' from These Extremes]