Separation is an illusion, they say.
But sitting in my darkened home
as a lone candle fitfully flames
on the bedside table, her absence is felt.
Through my open window a heron’s cry
from the water’s edge splits the night
like a razor blade, exposing in a flash
all the words I couldn’t say…
We are all the same, longing for home.
(for Yana Rykhlitska)
