the destinations of a gypsy

When I make something for someone

lightingstrike:

I make no other copies. This spins a loss into completion -
the gift is theirs alone.

I miss them from time to time, those words, shapes and sounds
I held for mere minutes.

I want to recall what they were like, to cool my hands in their settled forms. But I remember where they go, and whom it is I really miss.

It’s an expression of rarity:
this is one, the only one that is.

If I give you something I henceforth leave, it is because
you are what I cannot abandon.