How could they ever know
That there were love letters written to them
Eyes long looking at them
Nights spent heavy
With their absence
How could they ever know
There were voices cut short for them
Pages left white for them
Beds left made for them
Leaves of grass
All un-crushed
Because of them
But how could they ever ask
For a voice to ask for them
Or of the shape of the memory of them
Or for the sun to rise for them
Tomorrow