Sometimes the Missing

Her life–
The inner
And the outer world–
Like an open book,
Words that drip blood,
The open vein,
The tears warm from the swamp.
The cold breath that blew over the snow
As she lay there.
Waiting…
Waiting…
The fog of her breath
As she lay there
Waiting.

I miss her sometimes–
And though I never touched that skin–
Never looked deeply
Into that green eye–
There is a horizon there
So familiar
So known
I cannot escape it.

(Nor would I want to.)

But at night–
When the coyote pack drags down
The small,
The struggling,
The hidden thing
In the dark–
And the owl affirms
Every piece of wisdom that
Drifts down
In stardust–

I can feel her arm
Her hand
Her pulse
Her shared warmth
Descending down upon me
Like moonlight
On the page.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

One response to “Sometimes the Missing”

  1. Scent of my heart says :

    So many gems here and no one has left a nice word … I am really impressed with the feelings engraved … and loving every bit of your poetry!

    Descending down upon me
    Like moonlight
    On the page….

    lovely end!

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