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When bathed in the warmth

Of a singularly magnificent sun

And made more beautiful by glorious day

I am crippled by great crashing waves of 

Anticipatory grief 

For what will or may be 

And what may not.

I only feel the warmth of the sun

On my neck

I assume the beauty of day

Again missed

My eyes are cast back into time

Or else too far into the future

To make room for what is now.