— in the voice of Lingyin

Thou spok'st of parting as if it were air,
A passing wind, too soft to bruise the skin.
Yet every hush thy absence doth prepare
Is war within, where none but I may win.

I wore thy name beneath my quiet breath,
Like faded ink upon a letter sealed—
Too proud to mourn, too tender to feign death,
Yet every glance some grief has half revealed.

Thy shadow lingers where the light once stood,
And every dusk recites thy last refrain.
If love be cruel, then cruel I withstood—
My tongue held still, though silence sang of pain.

  I cursed thee not, yet left no prayer behind—
  For even loss, in me, would stay confined.