She still visits me, unexpectedly
A windy whisper, corner of my eye
Sometimes I wait for her, dejectedly
Recalling when I had her on standby.
I've wondered where it all bubbles up from
Whose mouth it is I'm really speaking with
Those depths - myself; the words - I've tried to plumb
Fruitlessly separating pit from pith
What has been lost in age, by growth regressed? -
An ocean of innocence turned desert
Changing the vantage, what can be expressed
Fossils of half finished works in the dirt
While I would love to swim with her again
I'll settle for her ambushes, till then.
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