My Hands Reach To Caress

my hands reach to caress
and hold the empty air
that i find in the dark
instead of your embrace

the only warmth i feel
comes from an old story
spoken from memory
by the old men around

a campfire: once a man
was so consumed by love
that he could not possess
he tore his soul into

tiny pieces and cast it
in the sky so at night
she could gaze up and see
the lights of the final

remnants of his rebirth