Cannot sleep tonight

I have been away all weekend, more or less. Not where I wanted to be indeed, but where I had to be. And I just cannot sleep tonight. My chest feels as if it is caving in.

A poem I just wrote:

The ocean moves in and out as I gradually pass
in thought. The breeze caught in my hair, moves
it from my face, revealing a solitary tear that falls
and then shatters, before touching the bitter sand.

... and everywhere I saunter I count my breaths,
slip through your fingers—
safe inside your empty eyes, I leave traces of
broken wings, like floodgates opening into the
sea.

I have been to this place many times in the past
weeks. I have spoken in circles against the waves,
prayed for air,...
... prayed for something to reach in and embrace
my weary and discarded heart.

I see my life and your roses in the hands of
strangers, the petals washed onto the shores
of Spain. ... and I do not think I will take the
photograph. I will try to imagine it beautiful.

The wind picks
up its pace.

I find a place beside the deluge. My body sinks to
sand—a collapse of all known structure, or perhaps
a breaking apart of the simple soul.

Shadows fade my once elated reflection. And like
last season beneath your boot,
I am no more.

(When fear
darkens the view, there does not have to be reason.)

Do not weep—hold onto me. I have recited poetry
in the rain. I have sung the highest notes immersed
in rosaries and tête-à-tête. And although you left
my side, our song remains forever.

So, look for me in the fallen leaves, where the body
becomes the dove, and all words spoken may be
forgotten.

And I will succumb to lessons learned in far away
places, where the moon blisters into a slow-motion
nothingness, and love seems to crush beneath
the soft breast.

I am quite sure it needs an edit, but I am not too worried about it right now.

Goodnight.