This Old Guitar

I wander through some chords on my guitar,
exploring rhymes and rhythms through the night,
and sing of touching you and where you are,
now all is said and sung. Well, you just might
return to me, dew-faced in melody,
look long and long into my eyes and say,
“There was no malice in our harmony.
I, too, regret that tear-struck parting day,
when we were silent, moist as my fresh grave.
Our looks were sidelong glances through the space
we left between us when we mournfully gave
our final kisses.” Now the pain I face
        aches through the songs I sing for you, and tries
        to burn the earth and moon, the stars, our skies.