She is a precious singularity, <br />Alone in a swirl of family, friends. <br />A modern ascetic. <br /> <br />Not spoiled; simply unprepared <br />to be what he believes she could be. <br /> <br />He says, 'Wily.' <br />She says, 'Weak.' <br /> <br />He misses her touch, <br />She misses a phantom. <br /> <br />He cries softly, <br />She cries foul. <br /> <br />At the end of her driveway <br />and the end of his rope. <br />He will burn this village in order to save it.<br /><br />Michael DiSciullo<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-cusp/
