it is
a graceful gasp,
a tiny light arcing
across my sky; your
absence shimmers
like ancient grief–
this soft ache inside
of me.

turn away; the
slow salve of time
will dull the shards;
but I am drifting
toward shadow; the
braided strength, twine
of mingled breath,

just to touch
you would be
enough to return the
song. one touch,
and the moon will
rise out of the sea,
the earth will make
its slow turning


  1. says

    You have captured the final beauties of winter with your stunning weaving of words, my friend. I, on the other hand, said a simple ‘good riddance’ this morning, posting my absolutely last photo of winter. I’m so done.
    Onward and upward!

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